The Lion, the Cat and the Turtles
by Hyaroo
Summary: An unlikely crossover! Leonardo inexplicably finds himself in Narnia at the time of king Rilian, and to get him back home his family must seek the only person left in our world who might still know how to get there... the aged Susan Pevensie.
1. Prologue

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles  
**_**by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and**_** The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis**

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**PROLOGUE**

* * *

Splinter looked sharply up at the sound of footsteps from outside, worry and disappointment etched on his furry face.

Only _three_ pairs of footsteps -- that meant that they hadn't found him. Or, even worse, that they _had_ found him, but... Splinter raised himself and hurried over to the entrance just in time to see the panel door slide aside and three weary-looking mutant Turtles come trudging in.

"My sons..." said Splinter. There was almost no point in completing the question.

It was Donatello who spoke up first, leaning against his bo staff and looking about ready to collapse. "Sorry, Master Splinter. We looked everywhere we could think of. No sign of him."

"And we musta searched the entire sewer," said Raphael, who looked about ready to attack something.

"And April and Casey haven't seen him either," Michelangelo added. "They said they'd keep an eye out for 'im, but..."

Splinter let out a heavy breath. "Then it is as I feared," he said. "Leonardo is gone."

And so it seemed. The day before, Leonardo had gone out on a solo patrol, promising Donatello that he'd check up on the sewer security system and see if there were any parts that needed maintenance or repair.

That was the last either of them had seen of him.

It had taken some time before they started to worry about him in earnest. After all, Leonardo was more than capable of taking care of himself, and things had been quiet lately, with no notable enemy activity. But then, some time around the afternoon, Splinter -- who had been in the process of making a cup of tea for himself -- had suddenly been attacked by a strong sensation that something was happening, something strange and possibly dangerous, and that Leonardo was right in the middle of it. The feeling had only lasted for a few seconds, but had still nearly overwhelmed him and caused him to lose his teacup.

Worried, Splinter had sent Michelangelo, Donatello and Raphael out to look for their brother, while he himself remained behind in case he should come back on his own and need help. But the night had passed, and so had most of the following day, and Leonardo had not shown up.

Repeated attempts at reaching him spiritually through intense meditation had proved unsuccessful. Once, Splinter had thought he could sense a glimpse of Leonardo, but it had vanished as soon as it had appeared, leaving behind only a curious sensation of... displaced time.

"What do you think happened to him, Master?" Michelangelo had gone to sit down on the couch, and in the process waking his cat, Klunk, who had been sleeping there for the better part of an hour.

"I do not know, Michelangelo," said Splinter, doing nothing to hide the feeling of worry he knew all his sons were sharing. "I fear it may be enemy activity." He paused only for a moment before making up his mind. "You are all exhausted, my sons. Try to get a few hours' rest. In the morning, we will contact all our friends and allies, and ask for their assistance. Meanwhile, I shall try reaching Leonardo through the astral plane again."

"I'm gonna help," said Raphael immediately.

"You should sleep, Raphael," said Splinter.

"I'm not gonna sleep when Leo might be in danger!" Raphael snapped.

"You will be of no use to him if you wear yourself out!" Splinter snapped back, but then regretted the harsh tone and continued, much more gently: "Please, Raphael. Rest assured; we _will_ find Leonardo, but for now you must sleep!"

Raphael grumbled, but didn't argue. He just turned around and walked off to his room, pausing only briefly to punch the wall beside his bedroom door before he vanished inside.

"He's just worried, you know," said Donatello, turning to Splinter. "We all are."

"Yeah," said Michelangelo, who had lifted Klunk up and was now concentrating more on petting the cat than anything else -- it was, Splinter thought, probably more of an attempt at comforting himself than Klunk. "It's not like Leo to just vanish like that without a single word."

"I know, Michelangelo," Splinter answered softly. "I just pray that he is all right."

* * *

After his sons had gone to bed, Splinter once again settled down to meditate, but he had only just sat down when Klunk -- apparently feeling that he was owed more attention after Michelangelo had left -- came up to him to lie in his lap.

Worried though he may be, the old rat couldn't help but smile. Michelangelo was definitely spoiling Klunk. But then, a sewer was hardly the ideal place for a cat to live, even a stray alley cat like Klunk had been, and Michelangelo seemed like he felt he should make it up to the cat by pampering him a little extra.

It wasn't the easiest thing to meditate with a cat in your lap, but as the father of four occasionally very rowdy teenagers, Splinter had long since learned to meditate in less-than-ideal circumstances. He took a few deep breath and closed his eyes, making himself relax and let go of his worries to reach the necessary state of calm.

Time seemed to slow down to a halt as the physical world began to fade around him... and then, to his surprise, Splinter felt an almost physical change in the room around him, quite unlike anything he had experienced during meditations before. Even without looking, he had the definite feeling that his surroundings widened and cleared, that everything around him grew brighter, and that the air he was breathing in gradually changed from that of the underground lair to the fresh, cool air of an open landscape.

He managed, just, to refrain from opening his eyes and stare, fearing that if he went too quick with this he'd simply wake up and find that nothing had changed, but in the end temptation proved too great, and he risked a peek.

He was sitting on a grass-covered hill under a clear, blue sky. The landscape around him stretched out far and wide; rolling hills of green rising gently against the sky's vibrant blue. Everything was silent and peaceful around him; the only movement in the landscape being the gentle movement of the grass as a soft breeze ran playfully through it.

"Mrrrow?" said Klunk from his lap. Splinter looked down and saw to his amazement that even though everything else had vanished around him, the cat was still there, looking around with mild interest.

"How curious," Splinter murmured, and found that his voice sounded quite clear and strong; much more so than he had intended it. It was as if he and Klunk had been physically transported elsewhere, though he couldn't say exactly how this had happened or why, and though his instincts said to panic, he forced himself to stay calm. There was no saying what this might be -- some strange new plane he'd accidentally visited, or just an extremely vivid dream -- but it didn't seem like a hostile place, and panicking wouldn't help.

Klunk didn't seem concerned at all. He just stretched himself and jumped out of Splinter's lap in order to pounce on the grass, twitching his tail and batting at invisible or imagined insects.

Splinter looked at him for a few moments. "I suppose you cannot tell me where we are," he said.

The cat didn't answer, of course. No matter how smart Michelangelo would brag that his cat was, Klunk was still just an ordinary cat and had neither the intelligence nor the capacity to speak.

Splinter was about to raise himself, to get a better look at this strange landscape, when he suddenly realized that they weren't alone. Someone was sitting beside him, and had been there for quite some time without making so much as a sound, and for some unfathomable reason, Splinter's keen senses hadn't picked up on that until now.

Slowly, he turned his head to look... and pulled back in startled surprise as he saw a huge lion, bigger than any animal he had ever seen before, sitting beside him and watching him with a solemn and regal face.

Splinter's first instinct was to flee, to grab Klunk and run, but something in the lion's expression stopped him.

"If you flee," said the lion calmly (and Splinter was surprised to find that he wasn't at all surprised that it could talk), "you will never find your son."

Klunk had stopped pouncing the grass, and oddly enough walked straight up to the lion with his tail erect, looking up at it the way he used to do when greeting anyone he knew. The lion -- no, the _Lion_; somehow it didn't seem right not to capitalize the word -- bowed its enormous head and touched the cat's forehead briefly and gently with its tongue before looking back at Splinter.

Splinter looked back at it, deciding that whatever this Lion might or might not do, it was obviously not going to attack. He knew that the various planes of existence were inhabited by all manners of spirits, some of whom could take on the forms of animals and act as spirit guides, and this lion may be one of them. "Do you know where my son is, master Lion?" he said.

"I do," the Lion answered. Its voice was soft and powerful at the same time, like a flowing river, but with an underlying rumble that could have been a growl, or a purr. "Your son has been called away. He now finds himself in the land of Narnia, far away from his own world and his own time."

"I see," said Splinter. Things were beginning to make a little more sense -- Splinter was no stranger to the idea of travelling between worlds, and the sensations he had felt earlier could very well have been a warning that Leonardo was being taken to a different world. "Please, master Lion... where is this world, this Narnia, and who called him there?"

"Someone who needed his help," said the Lion. "Someone who had the ability to call him through space and time in order to aid them in their hour of need. But know this: Time, even now, is flowing in a different path. Once, there were many doorways leading between your world and the world of Narnia. But they are almost all gone by now, and even as we speak the very few that are left are failing and fading, and will soon be no more."

Splinter felt a surge of despair grasp his heart. "Then is there no way of going after him?" he asked.

The Lion paused, and then spoke again, but now another undertone had entered its deep voice; an undertone of sadness. "I understand your grief, my friend," it said. "You miss your son, and I... I miss my daughter. She turned her back on me many years ago, and I have sometimes feared that she would never return to me. Nevertheless," he added, looking at Splinter, "she is one of the few in your world who can help you get to Narnia and find your son. She has the ability to create a final doorway, though she may not remember, or choose to remember, how. You must seek her out and convince her to help you."

"How can I find your daughter then?" said Splinter. He was beginning to realize that this Lion was not merely a guiding spirit belonging to this realm, but... something more, something he couldn't quite place words around.

"When she was young," said the Lion, "she lived in London, England. Now, however, she is old, and for the last twenty years she has lived in the very city that you and your sons dwell underneath. Her name is Susan Palmer, formerly Susan Pevensie."

"Your daughter is human?" said Splinter, a little surprised.

For the first time during their entire conversation, the Lion smiled. "Your sons are turtles. Yet they are no less your sons."

And, maybe because he had seen the lion smile, Splinter suddenly understood. He got to his feet and bowed low. "We _will_ find your daughter, master Lion," he said. "My sons and I... we will do everything in our power to convince her into returning to you, as well as helping us find Leonardo."

"Good," the Lion rumbled. "But she must do so of her own free will. You cannot force her. However, I will send with you something to help her remember me." Once again, it bowed its head and nudged Klunk with its nose. The cat, who had been sitting peacefully by its feet during the entire conversation, now raised himself and trotted back to Splinter with his tail raised high. "Now go, both of you. We will see each other again soon."

And then, Splinter was back in his room in the underground lair, still sitting on the floor with Klunk in his lap. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he felt as refreshed as if he had slept an entire night.

"Susan Palmer, formerly Susan Pevensie," he muttered to himself. "Hopefully I can find her in the phone book... or Donatello can locate her with his computer."

"I shouldn't worry," said Klunk, jumping down on the floor and stretching. "Didn't you see who that was?! That was _Aslan!_ If _he_ says something can be done, then..." he trailed off as he noticed Splinter staring at him. "What?" he said, confused. "Do I have grass in my fur or something?"

**

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**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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**Author's notes:** This is, without question, the longest fic I've ever undertaken, and it has a pretty long and complicated story behind it:

Two or three years ago, I wrote the first thirteen chapters of this story, having great fun not only mixing the world of Narnia with the Ninja Turtles, but also exploring a little more of the Narnian world, trying to find new angles towards it and revealing a few stories that had only been hinted at in canon (such as the story of Susan). And then, I not only hit a major writer's block, but felt completely burned out on Ninja Turtles and had to take a long break from the fic.

Last month, feeling a lot better about everything, and about Turtles in particular, I wrote a fourteenth chapter to the story and discovered that I was slowly getting excited about this story again. But looking back on the earlier chapters, I also found that there were quite a few minor snags that really should be fixed. So, like with my other multi-part Turtles story, I decided to do a rewrite, and this time to post the updated chapters here as they were finished.

So what you're reading here and now is really _The Lion, The Cat and the Turtles 2.0._ I hope you'll enjoy the ride -- in upcoming chapters we have savage Werewolves, evil Witches, brave Centaurs, talkative Badgers, gloomy Marsh-wiggles, and even a Djinn. And of course, as is customary for adventure stories with the TMNT, there'll be a fair bit of ninja action too.

In the next chapter -- Chapter One, where the story _really_ begins -- we'll see Leonardo's arrival in Narnia.


	2. In The Forest

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis  
**

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER ONE:  
In the Forest**

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* * *

**

Leonardo blinked and squinted against the sudden bright sunlight that filled his eyes, drawing his swords as he carefully raised himself.

_Okay, _he thought. _I definitely didn't see __**this**__ coming._

He'd just been on a standard sewer patrol to check up on Donatello's security system. Pure routine, really, but this time it had taken an unexpected turn: Just as he had entered a particularly dark part of the sewers, he had felt something pull on him. He'd tried to turn around to see who had managed to sneak up on him, but he hadn't been able to see anyone, and the pulling had grown stronger, more insistant, more intolerable, until he'd finally succumbed to it and fallen...

......but instead of landing in the raw sewage that he'd expected, he had landed on hard and firm ground, parts of which was covered in grass.

It was then he realized that he was no longer in the sewers of New York, but found himself in the middle of a lush, green forest. The sun was shining down on him between the trees, and all around him, birds were singing just as if nothing weird had happened.

Either this was a very strange dream, or something had happened that had teleported him to someplace else.

This last thought was rather disconcerting: he had experienced such things before -- being around dimension-travelling beings like the ones he and his brothers had encountered over the years tended to land you in quite a few strange situations -- and he had seldom, or never, ended up anyplace he'd really wanted to go.

Now, where was _this_ place, he wondered, and was there anyone around who would immediately attack him for trespassing, or looking like a demon, or any of the other things that usually happened in these situations?

"Hello, neighbor," came a jovial voice from behind him, before he could continue his line of thought. "I say, is there a battle around that I haven't been told of?"

Leo spun around, looking for the speaker. His eyes widened behind his mask as they fell upon the form of a badger. But it wasn't a normal badger -- it was abnormally large and was standing upright on its hind legs, and was looking at him with eyes that were much too intelligent for a normal animal.

"Did you just... say something?" said Leo, a little uncertainly.

"Why, of course I did," said the badger. "I was asking if there was a battle somewhere near here, what with you going around with swords drawn and all. And _two_ of them as well." It gazed at him with near-sighted eyes. "I say, you are a funny looking one, aren't you? No offense, no offense," it added hurriedly, as if it suddenly realized that insulting the looks of someone carrying around two very sharp swords wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do. "I've just never seen anything quite like you, that's all. You look a bit like a turtle, but you're built more like a man than any turtle I've ever seen. Come from the North, I expect? Related to the Marsh-wiggles of Ettinsmoor, perhaps?"

Slowly, Leo sheathed his swords. The creature was obviously no threat, whatever it was. "I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean," he said politely. "I don't know anything about these things you mention... I just suddenly found myself here without knowing how, or even where 'here' is."

"Well, you're in the forest, of course," said the badger. "That's obvious, innit?"

"Yes," said Leo, "but where _is_ the forest? What's this..." (he was about to say 'world,' but changed his mind about it at the last moment) "...country?"

To his surprise, the badger chuckled. "Oh, dear me, that's a good 'un," it said. "Look at me! I'm a talking badger, ain't I? Of course you're in Narnia! Where else would you find talking beasts such as me?"

"Narnia?" said Leo, trying and failing to think of anytime he might have heard that name before. "Excuse me, but I'm not from around here. _Narnia_, that's the name of this country?"

The badger stopped laughing and instead stared at him. "Well, I daresay you're from a far way off if you ain't never heard of _Narnia! _I thought there weren't a soul in the world who didn't know about this land! Where_ are _you from?"

"Leo shook his head. He wasn't quite sure how much he ought to tell this badger about himself -- even if it seemed friendly enough, he had learned never to take things at face value -- but he supposed that some basic information wouldn't hurt. "I'm from a place called New York," he said. "Don't know if you've ever heard of it."

"Can't say I ever have," the badger replied after having thought for a bit. "Newyork? Is it over the sea? Does everyone there look like you, begging your pardon?"

"Not exactly," said Leo, and left it at that. "And I'm not exactly sure where it is, from here. Like I said, I just kinda suddenly found myself here, with no idea as to how... That's why I had my swords drawn," he added as means of an explanation. "I didn't mean to appear hostile. I'd just suddenly appeared in a place I didn't know, and wasn't sure if there was someone waiting to attack me or not."

"Oh, well, that explains it." The badger, strangely, didn't seem to doubt this story (which even to Leo sounded rather unlikely). It just rubbed its chin and said thoughtfully: "Just suddenly appeared, eh? Sounds like magic to me."

"Magic?" said Leo, feeling his heart sink. The few experiences he'd had with magic had not been pleasant ones -- even less so than the ones he'd had with other types of dimension travelling.

"Yeah, sounds like it. Not that I should call myself an authority on the subject, of course, being just a humble Talking Beast... If it's them who knows magic you're seeking out, you'd be better off talking with the Dwarfs. Or possibly the Centaurs. They don't practice it much, of course, but I daresay they _know_ about it."

"Excuse me... I'd be better off talking to the _what?!"_

"Dwarfs! You don't have them in this Newyork of yours? Decent chaps on the whole, although occasionally you run into some of them who... well." The badger shrugged. "The less said of _that,_ the better, in my opinion. But I could take you to meet the Dwarfs who live 'round here, if you want. Maybe they could tell you more. Or maybe the Centaurs have seen something in the stars. It's been known to happen."

"...It has?"

"Of course it has! You don't get anyone better to interpret the dance of the stars than a Centaur. From another world, are you?"

"I -- probably," said Leo, trying not to sound as confused as he felt. This was just a little too much for him all at once -- talking animals, dwarfs and centaurs, and talking about different worlds as if dimension-hopping was something common. It was enough to make him feel like he'd somehow inadvertedly stepped into some kind of lowbrow fantasy story for children, and he wasn't at all sure he liked the implications of that. "It would be good to talk to someone who might be able to explain things... I really don't know what I'm doing here... or how to get home, for that matter."

"We'll find a way, of course we will, never you worry," said the badger cheerfully. "By the way, my name's Portly. You got a name?"

"Leonardo," said Leonardo. "Most people call me 'Leo,' though."

"Leo?" Portly seemed pleased by this. "That's a _lion's_ name, that is! Well, even if it weren't for nothing else, that makes you all right in _my_ book! C'mon, then! I'll take you to see old Glenstorm the Centaur, he lives nearby!"

"Uh... lead the way," said Leo, wondering just what it was about lions that appealed to Portly. Wouldn't it have made more sense for the badger to be afraid of a predator like a lion? But, he reminded himself, he was definitely not in his own world anymore -- things might very well be different here in Narnia. Maybe lions and badgers were natural allies or something.

"So," said Portly as they set down the path, "You're a warrior of some kind in this Newyork of yours, that right?"

"You could say that," said Leo. "It was the swords that tipped you off, wasn't it?"

"Well, partly that, but something about the way you carry yourself as well," said Portly. "I've seen warriors carry themselves like that. Something about the way they always seem ready for trouble, even if they're not necessarily _looking_ for trouble. There's something else about you, though, something that's different from the warriors I've seen. You seem like you'd be more at home lurking in the shadows than walking out in the open... now, _normally_ I'd say that was a sign that a person was no good, but your face is much too honest for it, even with that strange mask you're wearing."

Leo nodded, slightly impressed at this level of deduction. It seemed like this badger was more perceptive than he appeared at first glance.

"We've had people from other worlds here in Narnia before," said Portly, "and they always came here for a reason, and it always -- almost always -- turned out a great benefit for us. You don't know why you came? Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?"

Leo shook his head. "I just felt as if someone had grabbed me and was dragging me off somewhere."

"That definitely happened for a reason," Portly mused. "I daresay we'll find out what it was soon enough, Aslan be willing. Now, if you really never heard of Narnia before, I expect you must be mighty curious about what sort of country we are," he continued. "Let me fill you in on it as we walk along..."

"All right," said Leo, and internally he hoped that the fill-in wouldn't take as long as he suspected it would. Interesting as the country's history no doubt was, and insightful though this badger may be, Portly did seem to love the sound of his own voice just a _little_ too much for Leo's tastes.

* * *

Portly's story did nothing to ease Leo's feelings that he's somehow ended up in a fantasy story for children.

Apparently, Narnia was a country that contained many creatures he had only thought belonged in fairytales -- Dwarfs, Fauns, Giants, Centaurs, Dryads and of course a multitude of talking animals -- but it was nevertheless ruled by a human (or a "Son of Adam," as Portly for some reason insisted on calling it), who apparently was descended from some humans that had come into Narnia from another world long ago.

This thing about humans coming from other worlds, through some kind of magic, seemed to be an event that had repeated itself several times throughout Narnian history, and Leo thought that this at least explained Portly's immediate acceptance of Leo's own story; the Badger had probably heard about visitors from other worlds for his entire life.

While humans were now numerous in Narnia, they hadn't always been; in fact, the stories told that once, the humans had been banished from Narnia by a witch or something, and had been gone so long that many of Narnia's creatures had forgotten that there ever was such thing as humans -- though the Talking Beasts had never forgotten, Portly hastened to add: "We Beasts, we don't forget, we don't change, and we know that Narnia weren't never quite right unless a Son of Adam was on its throne."

And while the humans were gone, Narnia definitely hadn't been "quite right," because a cruel witch had seized power, enslaved the Narnians and caused a winter that lasted for a hundred years, with no summer in sight. At the end of the winter, however, four humans had come to Narnia, defeated the witch and made everything "right" again by taking up the rule of Narnia with the help and blessing of someone named "Aslan" -- who, as far as Leo could make out, was the highest authority in this place; the one even the mightiest kings bowed to.

"King Peter, the High King, it was," said Portly. "And his brother, King Edmund, and his sisters, Queen Susan and Queen Lucy. They ruled Narnia for many a year before they simply vanished, all four of them. Turned out later they'd gone back to their own world, but nobody knew, of course, until they returned a thousand years later and could tell us what had happened."

"They sound like very long-lived humans," said Leo.

"No, it was a whatchamacallit," said Portly, waving his paw around as he tried thinking of the word. "Blast, I _know_ there's a name for it. Something about time running differently in the two worlds. A human could stay here for ages and still return to his own world after a few seconds -- and then, if he returned here after a week in his own world, he might find that a year had passed in Narnia, or a thousand years, or just a few minutes. You can never know for sure what it's going to be. 'Least, that's how I've always had it told to me."

Leo frowned. "Does this mean that no matter how long I stay here, no time at all is going to pass in New York?"

"Could be. Or could be that years will pass. Like I said, you can never know for sure."

Leo definitely didn't like the implications of this, but he didn't say anything, deciding to push away the sense of worry for now. After all, the flow of time wasn't something he could control, so it would be useless to panic about it... though it was with a slightly uneasy heart he listened to the rest of the story, which took a drastic turn after the disappearance of the Four Great Kings and Queens, as the badger referred to them as.

Some decades after they had vanished, humans had once again entered Narnia, but this time they had come from another country in this world, a place called Telmar. They had conquered Narnia through war, and done it so completely, it seemed, that all the non-humans were forced to go underground and live in hiding. And in an ironic turnaround, after some time many of the humans forgot that there had ever been such things as Dwarfs and Fauns and Talking Beasts and thought of them only as legends.

However, some humans remembered and honored the stories, and one such human was Prince Caspian, direct descendant of Caspian the Conqueror (the man who had crowned himself king of Narnia after the Telmarin humans had conquered Narnia). The prince had chanced to come upon the remains of the old Narnian civilization while on the run from his uncle, Miraz the Usurper, and had eventually managed to befriend Dwarfs and Giants and Fauns and Centaurs and Talking Beasts alike.

It was around this time when the High King Peter and his royal siblings had returned to Narnia after their thousand-year-long absence, and again with the aid of this "Aslan," they helped Caspian defeat Miraz and regain his throne before once again returning to their own world.

Caspian proved to be a good King for all of Narnia's creatures, all of whom could now live out in the open again -- and even though the humans were now slightly more numerous than the other creatures save the Beasts, everyone were more or less getting along and had done so for several decades.

"The good King Caspian died about ten years ago," Portly finished, "and the throne has gone to his son, King Rilian -- long may he reign -- who's generally agreed upon to have shaped up to be a fine king and --"

"Wait," Leo suddenly interrupted him, stopping dead in his tracks. "Did you hear that?" he said in a whisper.

"Hear what?" said Portly, stopping as well.

Leo motioned for him to be silent and concentrated. As a ninja, and more importantly as a mutant Turtle, you were trained to always be aware of your surroundings, to pick up and recognize potential danger at a moment's notice. Of course, it worked better when you were on familiar ground, and Leo was more a Turtle of the city than of the forest, but prolonged stays up at Casey's farmhouse and many nature walks had nevertheless given him a general feel of what a forest should feel like.

And there was something about it right now that felt... off, like a sour note in an otherwise pleasant-sounding song. He wasn't sure if he had _heard_ it, or _felt_ it, or just imagined it, or if whatever he'd heard or felt (or imagined) was something that was perfectly normal for Narnia but just felt off-putting to him because it wasn't what he was used to.

_Focus,_ Splinter's voice sounded in his ears, recounting the old lesson. _Do not look for what you __**think**__ is going to be there, look for what is really there. Do not listen only with your ears, because those very ears might be deceiving you. Listen with your heart, your soul, your mind._

And even though he didn't see or hear anything, he was now aware of someone, or some_thing_ -- in fact, _several_ someones or somethings -- that were moving past him in rapid succession. Just a slight wavering in the air next to him, and then it was gone again, leaving only the sensation that it was moving down the path, away from him.

He had a distinct feeling that there had been a party of unseen, unheard creatures hurrying past him and Portly. It was hard to say just how many there had been (but more than a few, he was certain of that) or just what sort of creatures they had been, but that they had been _there_ was certain.

"Maybe a Badger can be so bold as to ask what you're doing?" said Portly after a while, looking up at him with an expression that was made up, in roughly equal parts, by curiosity, confusion and mild annoyance.

"Portly," said Leo. "You've told me about Centaurs and Dwarfs and Fauns and Satyrs and Dryads and a whole lot of other creatures, so I'm willing to accept that this might be a perfectly normal occurrence... but there were just a group of invisible creatures walking right past us."

"In_vis_ible?"

"Yeah. Is that something that happens a lot around here?"

"Well, I ain't never seen anyone in_vis_ible around here, if that's what you mean," said Portly. "Are you certain?"

"As certain as I am of anything right now," said Leo. "They walked right past us, pretty fast too, in _that_ direction." As he pointed, he realized just how stupid it must sound to the Badger -- a group of invisible creatures?

But once again, Portly surprised him. "That's Eastward, that is," he said thoughtfully. "In that direction lies Cair Paravel, the Royal Castle. Why would a group of in_vis_ible beings be heading in that direction? Sounds like something that ain't right that's going on. Maybe _this_ is why you came here, to warn us of that!"

Leo took a deep breath. "You mean to say you believe it? Just like that?"

"Of course," said Portly, looking surprised that Leo would have thought otherwise. "I told you before, you have an honest face. I'm a Talking Beast, I am, and a Badger besides -- we can recognize liars and cheaters and traitors better than most, not that I'm one to brag, mind you. I don't believe you would lie about something like this, though I must admit I'm baffled as to what it all might mean, what with in_vis_ible creatures heading for Cair Paravel and all. We'd better hurry up and get to Glenstorm's place. He'll know what to do, mark my words!" He started walking again, going down on all fours this time and picking up pace.

Through short breaths, he explained that Glenstorm had been the general of Caspian's army, but that he was long retired from military service and had spent the last decade or so dedicating himself to his true calling as a star-gazer and prophet, as well as looking after his numerous grandchildren. He was better than most at seeing the hidden, and knew much about warfare.

"It might be a coincidence, though," Leo pointed out as Portly had to stop talking for a bit, trying to keep at least some level of sensibility to this conversation. (The way Portly kept completely accepting his every word was a little unnerving -- not that he particularly _wanted_ him to start laughing at him or refuse to believe him or tell him he was crazy, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that the badger was either _very_ clever or _extremely_ gullible.) "I mean, unless this Cair Paravel lies just behind those trees, it's not certain that that was where they were headed. They could be going another place that just happened to lie in that direction."

"That could be, of course," said Portly, having regained enough breath to talk. "But it would be a mighty strange coincidence at that. Them what sneaks around in_vis_ibly seldom have honest motivations, as my old father would say."

They didn't speak any more for the rest of the walk; Portly seeming suddenly -- and as far as Leo could see, rather uncharacteristically -- to think that they should focus more on hurrying than talking. And it didn't take long before the trees parted, and they found themselves in a clearing in the forest. At the other end of the clearing, where the trees came together again, stood what appeared to be a low, wide hut, made so it almost blended perfectly in with the trees... and in the front of it lay a creature that would have made Leo stare and gawk if he hadn't been prepared for it:

The upper body was that of a young woman, reasonably attractive as far as Leo could judge (though he could hardly call himself an expert on human feminine beauty), with straight blonde hair and tan skin -- but the lower body, slumped in the grass in a most undignified manner, was that of a sandy-yellow-coated horse. What was even more eye-catching was that she had just lowered her human torso and _taken a big mouthful of grass. _

It was, of course, a Centaur, and she looked up as Leo and Portly got closer, hastily swallowed the mouthful of grass and got to her feet.

"Well met, Portly," she said, her words a little indistinct because of the grass she hadn't managed to swallow, and tried to stand tall and straight as she turned what was probably meant to be a solemn, piercing gaze at Leo. "Who is your friend? I don't believe I've seen any creature such as this before."

"Hullo, Moorwin, didn't realize you were here," Portly panted. "This here's Leo, he's a Newyorker."

Leonardo, who unlike Portly wasn't even slightly out of breath, bowed politely to the Centaur. It wasn't often he met people who didn't at first back away from him, or attack him on sight, and he was determined to make as good a first impression as he could, time permitting. "A Ninja Turtle, actually. My full name is Leonardo, but as I already told Portly, most people just call me Leo. It's an honor to meet you."

The Centaur seemed to measure him before returning the bow (which did look slightly odd on a centaur). "Well, you're polite, whatever else you are. My name is Moorwin, and the honor is all mine, I'm sure. What can I do for you?"

"Was hoping to see your Grandfather," said Portly. "Leo here, he says he saw some in_vis_ible creatures heading for Cair Paravel, and I said to myself, I said, old Glenstorm would find this very interesting, and he'd know what to --"

Moorwin held up a hand. "Portly, please slow down. You're chattering like a squirrel. What are you talking about? Invisible creatures?"

"He is talking about a great threat to the King, dear Granddaughter," came a voice from within the hut, an old yet strong and powerful voice. Leo turned his head to see another Centaur come walking out of the open door. Unlike Moorwin, this Centaur looked old -- old and stern and very regal, his eyes filled with a quiet, solemn dignity and wisdom.

Leo only needed to take one look at this Centaur to understand that this was a person to be treated with respect. He bowed low, and the Centaur gave him a very solemn nod in return.

"Hullo, Glenstorm," said Portly. "Leo here, he says he --"

"I heard." Glenstorm looked at Leo, then up at the sunny sky. "And it comes as no surprise. The stars tell of a threat to the King and to Narnia. Much that has been long hidden is about to reveal itself, to the misfortune of us all."

"So you know about the in_vis_ible creatures?" said Portly eagerly. "You wouldn't happen to know what they were, would you?"

But Glenstorm shook his head. "The stars seldom give such detailed informations, Portly. But they do tell of unexpected aid from other worlds, of great battles and great trials to be overcome. They tell that once again, the hour draws near, and we had better prepare for it." He turned to Leo and nodded again. "Welcome to Narnia, traveller of worlds. I am sorry that our meeting could not be under more fortunate stars."

Leo bowed again. "I'm afraid I know little about Narnia, or about what the stars might say," he said diplomatically. "But I know what I saw. Or rather, what I felt. If Portly is right, and these invisible creatures are heading for the Royal Castle with ill intent --"

"-- Then it's only the duty of any free Narnian to travel to Cair Paravel and make sure that the creatures do not harm good King Rilian, or sullen the ancient home of the High King," said Moorwin hurriedly. "Especially if Grandfather says they are a sign of a great threat. And since I am the fastest of us..." She trotted up to Leo. "Do you know how to ride?"

"What?" said Leo, a little surprised.

"Well, you'll be going down to Cair Paravel, won't you? If I understood you correctly, you're in a hurry. Normally I wouldn't allow just anyone to ride me, but if it's a matter of investigating a possible threat to Cair Paravel, and to the king, I'm willing to make an exception. Do you know how to ride?"

"A little," said Leo, thinking about the few times he'd been on horseback in his life. Riding had come more easily to him than to his brothers, but he wouldn't actually call himself experienced. "But not that much. And never on a centaur."

"That goes without saying," said Moorwin. "But you'll do all right."

Glenstorm, who had watched this exchange, nodded. "My Granddaughter may be a little rash, but she is correct. Time is of the essence, and I have been a friend to the good King Rilian since his birth. I cannot refuse my own kin to go out in aid of him, especially in times like these."

"Then I'll stay here, if you don't mind," said Portly. "I'd just slow you down, and of course it ain't natural for a Badger to travel in any fashion but on his own two, or four, feet."

"That's okay, Portly," Leo assured him. "Thanks for your help."

"Aw, I didn't really do nothing," the Badger muttered, scraping his foot. "Let me know how things turn out for you, all right? I hope you get to the King in time."

"I am the fastest runner in the forest," Moorwin bragged. "I can't run at top speed with a passenger, but I daresay we can make good time anyway! Now... Leonardo, was it? I'm going to run very fast here, so I suggest you hold onto me so you don't fall off." She paused at Leo, somewhat uncertaintly mounted her and wrapped his hands around her. "But not just _there_. A little lower, please."

"Sorry." Embarrassed, Leo moved his hands.

"That's quite all right. Now you've got it." Without further ado, the centaur turned again and galloped out of the clearing, heading to the East, with Leonardo hanging on for dear life, discovering very quickly that riding a centaur was anything but comfortable.

_Next time,_ Leo thought between the hoofbeats, desperately clinging to Moorwin and trying not to fall off,_ I'm going to stay home and send __**Mike**__ out on patrol instead. _

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**

* * *

**

**Author's notes:** Narnian fans should recognize the epoch in Narnian time Leo has been sent to; namely the period taking place between _The Silver Chair_ and _The Last Battle_ (but much closer to the former than the latter). Of course (as Portly might say), this timeline isn't a hundred percent dependable, because if Susan is an old lady in our world, the fic must logically take place after _The Last Battle,_ right? So it appears that Leo has not only been sent to another world, but back in time as well! There _is_ a reason for this, but it won't be revealed for some time yet.

Quick note about the OCs in this chapter: I quickly realized that I couldn't write a Narnia story without heavy use of OCs, but I've done my best to make them true to the spirit of Narnia. Glenstorm, of course, is very much a canon character (and as Narnian Centaurs live for a very long time, I didn't think it unreasonable to have him still alive and well during the reign of King Rilian), and we know he had three sons, so giving him a granddaughter didn't seem too big of a stretch. Most centaurs we meet in Narnian canon are old, stern and wise, so I thought it would be fun to introduce a young, impulsive centaur who _thinks_ she is stern and wise, but hasn't quite gotten the hang of it yet.

As for Portly... no, he's not related to Trufflehunter.

In the next chapter, we'll be returning to New York to see the other Turtles and Splinter, and their reaction to a talking Klunk, and we'll also find out what Susan Pevensie is up to these days.


	3. Talking Cats and Strange Phone Calls

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO:  
Talking Cats and Strange Phone Calls**

**

* * *

  
**

"So ya mean to tell me that none of you ever understood a _word_ that I said before now?!" said Klunk, staring up at the two Turtles and one rat with a shocked expression. "Man. Well, that does explain why nobody ever laughed at my jokes."

"You were telling jokes? Awww, and I missed them all?" said Michelangelo with a disappointed look on his face.

_"You're_ a joke, Mikey," said Raphael. "Can we focus on what's important here?"

Splinter held up a hand. "Enough, my sons. I am not completely sure what has happened, and why, but apparently this Aslan is of the opinion that a talking cat will help us convince his daughter to help us enter the world where Leonardo is currently trapped."

"This is so cool, though," said Mike, reaching down to stroke Klunk's fur. "We got a talking cat! I bet nobody else in the world has a talking cat!"

"Maybe not in _this_ world, Mikey," said Donatello, who just emerged from his room with a sheet of paper in his hand. "In other worlds, though... who knows?" He handed the sheet of paper to Splinter, who took it and glanced at the printed text. "I believe this is our woman. Susan Palmer, formerly Pevensie. It was easy enough to find her on the 'net -- here's the address and the phone number."

"Thank you, Donatello," said Splinter, studying the paper. "She lives over in Brooklyn, I see."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" said Raph. "Let's go see her!"

"I _think_ it would be better to phone her first," said Donatello. "Three giant turtles, a huge rat and a talking cat might not be the best thing to have drop in on you completely unannounced."

"Hey, if her daddy's a talkin' lion, she should be used ta stuff like that."

"Still," said Splinter, "I do believe Donatello is right. Even though Mrs. Palmer is no doubt familiar with the strange and unusual, it would only be common courtesy to at least notify her of our visit."

"Ooh, can I be the one to call her?" said Mike eagerly.

"If you wish, Michelangelo," said Splinter.

"All right!" Mike scooped up Klunk and bounced over to the phone. "C'mon, Klunk, you can help me!"

The others watched as the cat climbed up on Mike's shoulder to perch there like a parrot. "I never understood how so many people could fit into that tiny little phone in the first place," the cat commented.

"Well, ya see, Klunk, it's like this," Mike began. You dial the right number, and..." he paused, and then, looking sheepish, hung up and came back to them to take the paper with Susan Palmer's phone number from Splinter. "Heh... forgot... yeah."

Raphael rolled his eyes, but surprisingly enough didn't comment. Instead, he waited until Mike and Klunk were over by the phone again (Mike beginning to explain to a curious Klunk just how a phone worked) before he turned to Don and Splinter. "By the way, am I the only one here who's wonderin' why we're not freaking out more over the fact that the cat suddenly talks? I mean, I can accept that _Mike_ just thinks it's cool, but Don, I'd almost have expected _you_ to go off on some long rant on why it's scientifically impossible for a cat to talk and then present five different theories as to how that could be."

Don smirked. "No, I wasn't planning on that, Raph. Look, we've all experienced stuff over the years that makes no sense scientifically. We've encountered gods and demons and spirits and several kinds of magic... After a while, you just have to accept that there are there are some things that just can't be explained that easily, or else you'll just go insane. Klunk is just the latest in a long line of strange happenings. If it helps us find Leo, I won't be the one to complain."

"Well said, Donatello," said Splinter. "Leonardo is our primary concern. Skepticism is not."

The three fell silent just in time to hear Michelangelo from over by the phone: "Susan Palmer? Formerly Susan Pevensie? Yeah, hi! My name is Mike! Look, this is kind of a long and extremely weird story, but your father told my father that we should contact you, because..." he paused. "Well, okay, if I have the wrong number, then the name 'Aslan' won't mean anything to you, right?" Another pause. "No, this isn't a joke! Look, this Aslan told us that we should contact you, because you were his daughter and... Hello?_ Hello?_ Was it something I said?"

Raph and Don exchanged glances.

Mike dialed the number again, taking a deep breath. "Hello, Mrs. Palmer? Mike again here. Please don't hang up... _Please don't hang up!_ She hung up," he sighed, putting the receiver down.

"Major daddy issues," Raph muttered.

* * *

Susan Palmer, formerly Susan Pevensie, stared at the phone as it rang once again, but this time she made no attempt at picking it up.

It wasn't possible. It just wasn't _possible. _She hadn't heard the name "Aslan" for more than fifty years. It had been part of a dream, or a game, she'd used to play with her siblings when she was still young and living in England, and as far as she knew nobody else had ever so much as mentioned it.

Her eyes wandered over to the far wall, where hung a framed photograph. It was old and faded, but still clearly showed herself at the age of nineteen, together with a group of other young people; her brothers Peter and Edmund, her sister Lucy, their cousin Eustace and Eustace's friend Jill, who'd had a curious tendency of always being around whenever Eustace was as well.

But they were all dead and gone, along with her parents, Professor Kirke, Aunt Polly and hundreds of other people, killed in that terrible train accident all those years ago.

And as far as Susan had known, the name Aslan had died with them. For decades, she hadn't even thought about it, or about her childhood games and fantasies... some silly little dream about being a queen in a magical land. Narnia, or whatever it was. She had pushed it all out of her head when it was time to grow up, and the deaths of her siblings and cousin had more or less cemented the decision.

And Susan had gone on with her life and managed quite well, moving to America and meeting the man who eventually became her husband, settling down and raising a family. And never had she mentioned the name "Aslan" to anyone -- though admittedly, for half-forgotten reasons, she did feel a twinge of unease whenever she happened to see a picture or a movie with a lion in it.

But who was this mysterious "Mike," and where had he heard this name... much less found out that he should associate it with _her? _Who in their right mind would keep tabs on silly childhood games and call people up fifty years later to taunt them?

The phone stopped ringing; apparently Mike, or whoever else it was on the other end of the line had given up. Susan let out a breath of relief, only how becoming aware that she had held her breath while it rang.

_Honestly, Susan, _she scolded herself. _You're acting like a little girl. Jumping at your own shadow just because someone mentions..._

"Stuff and nonsense," she said out loud, letting the sound of her own voice drown out the unwanted thoughts. "I'm too old for this. And don't _you_ be saying anything either," she added, looking sternly at the picture on the wall. "It's been more than half a century."

She decided to go make herself a cup of tea, and then maybe turn on the television to see if there was anything half-decent on that she could watch. If the phone rang again, she just wouldn't answer it.

Ignoring the tiny little voice in the back of her head that said that maybe she should at least try to find out what was going on, she walked towards the kitchen, not even turning her head to look back when the phone started ringing again.

* * *

After three more attempts at calling Mrs. Palmer, Mike gave up. By that time, Raph had started getting extremely insistent that they just go talk to her in person and get her to tell them how to get to Narnia, and at last everyone else had agreed that there was really nothing else to do.

So that was how they all, less than an hour later, now found themselves gathered in April's van and driving towards the woman's address in Brooklyn. It was to April's credit -- and probably said a great deal about all the weird things that happened in her life -- that she had immediately accepted the story of Leo being trapped in another world and had agreed to drive them.

Klunk was enjoying himself immensely, still perched on Mike's shoulder (having found a fairly comfortable place near the Turtle's neck, partly resting against his shell) and partly following the landscape outside as it speeded by and partly talking to everyone.

"Okay, here's another one," he said. "How many cats does it take to change a light bulb? You give up? None, because they don't know what a light bulb is!"

Only Mike laughed. But then, he was the one who had asked the cat to go through some of his jokes in the first place.

"This is going to take some getting used to," April commented from the driver's seat. "Klunk actually talking..."

"It was a surprise to us as well," said Splinter, who was sitting beside her.

"I'm not sure I _wanna_ get used to it," said Raph from beside Mike. "Hey, cut the comedy, Klunk! You're not gonna help Leo by sitting here and tellin' bad jokes!"

"Which is why I'm not telling _bad_ jokes," said Klunk indignantly. "I'm telling _good_ ones."

"Besides," said Mike, serious for a moment, "we wouldn't help him by sitting here and moping either. When we get in a position where we _can_ do something to help Leo, we _will_. But there's nothing we can do while the van is in motion, so..."

"Never mind." Raph leant back in his seat. "But that cat has _definitely_ spent too much time around you, Mikey."

"Well, he _is_ Mikey's cat," said Don calmly, from the opposite side of Mike. "I have to admit that I'm curious as to why this Aslan character thinks a talking cat is going to persuade her, though."

"Maybe she likes cats?" Mike suggested. "Maybe there's a family resemblance somewhere? Lions are big cats, aren't they? Hey, if she's part-lion, maybe Klunk's distantly related to her!"

Don looked at Klunk, and seemed to consider this for about two seconds, before shaking his head. "Highly unlikely," he said.

"Oh, that's nice," said Klunk. "You're talking to one of the Chosen of Aslan here!"

"But who _is_ this Aslan?" said April. "You talk like you know him. I thought you only just met him last night."

"Oh, everybody knows Aslan!" said Klunk -- though truth be told, he was far less sure of that than he sounded. He couldn't for the life of him remember anyone ever telling him about Aslan before, or ever mentioning him... but he felt as if he had always known, even before actually meeting the Lion. He just hadn't _thought_ about him.

In fact, he had never really thought very much about _anything_ before. Mostly, he just hadn't bothered about it. Cats didn't need to think all the time -- that was what humans, or to a lesser extent, mutant Turtles, were for. Cats just needed to know what they wanted, and Klunk had always been good at that. He'd always more or less assumed that everyone knew exactly what he was saying to them at any time, but now that he actually _thought_ about it, he realized how obvious it was that they hadn't.

Ever since he had met Aslan, though, it seemed like he was beginning to _think_ more and more. He didn't actually feel all that different from before, it was just that his mind seemed more active. Thoughts were forming in his head at an alarming rate, much more quickly and more concisely than they had ever done before. Whereas before, it had usually been enough to keep one thought, or one desire, in his mind at a time, now he found that he could easily hold two or three different thoughts, on different levels, in his head at the same time.

"All right," said Raph. "If everybody knows Aslan, then why don't _we_ know 'im?"

"Well, cause, cause you're not everybody," Klunk improvised. "You're... somebody else." (Raph hid his face in his hands and groaned. Probably, Klunk thought, because he was frustrated at being unable to argue with such infallible logic.) "Aslan is... Aslan is the Lion. That's who he is."

"Oh, now it all makes sense," Raph muttered.

"It does?" said Mike.

_"No!"_ Raph snapped. "Geez, Mike, why don't ya --"

Just then, the van pulled up beside a tall brick building, and April called out "We're here!"

All the passengers immediately stopped talking and looked out to the side as the April shut the engines down. It looked like a completely normal apartment complex of the sort you saw everywhere, and Klunk had to admit to himself that he was slightly disappointed -- he wasn't quite sure what he'd expected Aslan's daughter's house to look like, but this wasn't it.

April turned her head and looked at them from the driver's seat. "This is it, guys," she said. "Why don't I go and check to see what floor our woman lives on before you come after me?"

"First floor," said Donatello.

"Oh. You're certain about that?"

"All on the Great Information Super Highway," said Don. "Long as you know where to look. But I think you should be the first to go, anyway. Give her a bit of time to collect herself before we launch everything on her."

"What if she just slams the door in April's face, though?" said Mike. "Like she slammed the phone receiver in my ear?"

"You have ears?" said Klunk, surprised.

"Mrs. Palmer is not our enemy," said Splinter. "And we are hoping to ask a favor of her. It would be wise to approach her with courtesy." He nodded at April. "Go, my child."

"I wanna come too!" said Klunk, jumping off Mike's shoulder and landing, fairly elegantly, between the two front seats. "I want to see what Aslan's daughter looks like!"

"Well...all right," said April, unfastening her seat belt and opening the car door. "I guess you're less likely to draw attention to yourself than the others. Just don't start talking before I can explain a few things."

"Deal."

"And if you're not out again after five minutes," said Raph, lifting his head and looking at them, "I'm comin' in after you, no matter what anyone else says."

April smiled. "You're not exactly giving me a lot of time to parlay, Raph."

"Yes, I am," said Raph calmly. "I _was_ only gonna give you _three_ minutes."

"Raphael...!" said Splinter, with a hint of a warning in his voice.

Klunk didn't hear Raphael's answer over the slam of the car door as April shut it and walked up to the building with him in her arms.

It only took a few seconds for April to find the right doorbell and press it. It took almost a minute before anything happened -- but instead of the door opening, like April had clearly expected, the window directly above them opened instead, and the face of an old woman peered down at them. She seemed to Klunk to be older even than Splinter, even if he wasn't sure how she might compare -- her long hair was gray and her face was wrinkled the way it got for humans when they grew old. Her eyes were clear and sharp, though, and... there was something else about her as well, something he couldn't quite define...

"Yes?" she said.

"I'm looking for a Susan Palmer?" April tilted her head upwards to meet the woman's gaze.

"You have found her, then. What can I do for you?" said the old woman, in a curious accent that Klunk had never heard before, other than on TV. If he remembered correctly, it was the sort of accent that sophisticated bad guys and some highbrow, intelligent people usually had, but he didn't know what it was called. (Of course, a daughter of Aslan wouldn't be a bad guy, so Klunk guessed that she was of the highbrow variant.)

"Could I come in?" said April. "This isn't really something we should talk about out in the open."

Susan Palmer's face changed a little, growing more suspicious. "I hope you don't think me rude," she said, "but before I invite you in, I really need to know what this is about."

"Well, my name is April O'Neil," April began, "and I'm looking for, well, a friend of mine. I was told that you were the only one who could help find him. He's in a place called... Narnia?"

The old woman momentarily pulled back, as if April's words somehow hurt her. Then, her eyes narrowed. "I knew it! Another one! Is this supposed to be funny? Who _are_ you people?!"

April took a deep breath. "Please, Mrs. Palmer. We don't mean you any harm. We just want your help. I can explain everything, if you just --"

Susan Palmer shook her head. "I don't know where you've heard about Narnia, but that's..." She paused, looking as though she was going to say something very angry, but then apparently thought better of it and simply said, with icy politeness: "I'm sorry, I can't help you. Good day, Miss O'Neil. Please tell your friend Mike that he can leave me alone, and this goes for anyone else who wants to waste my time in this manner." She pulled her head back in and vanished from view.

"Ya know, for Aslan's daughter, you're not being very helpful!" Klunk called after her, completely forgetting his promise to be silent.

April opened her mouth, no doubt to reprimand him, when Susan Palmer's face reappeared in the window. "And where did you hear that name, anyway?" the old woman snapped. "It's not --" she cut herself off, looking at April and Klunk with a questioning look. "Who -- who was that other voice?"

"Me," said Klunk. "Wanna make something of it? Daughter of Aslan or no, you can't just blow us off without letting us explain!"

Her face changed again, going from angry and upset to shocked and disbelieving. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, staring at him, and then she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did -- did you just talk?"

Klunk would have rolled his eyes, if his eyes had been the sort to easily roll. "No," he said, "April's doing her famous ventriloquist act. _Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer."_

"Klunk!" April hissed, and would probably have gone on to say more, but just then, Susan Palmer did something neither of them had expected:

She gave a small, strangled squeal, and began to cry.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Raphael was being extremely sullen in this chapter, even for him, huh? Well, mostly it's because he's worried about Leo and doesn't think the others are acting quick enough in order to go find him. Many fanfics describe Leo and Raph as little better than rivals, but I really think there's a stronger brotherly bond between the two than either of them would care to admit.

Oh... and I admit it. I liked Klunk's lame light bulb joke. Yes, I know, my sense of humor needs repairing.

Next chapter, we'll go back to Narnia for a good old race through the woods -- and probably also a bit of fighting, as Leonardo discovers that not all Narnian creatures are nice and friendly.


	4. Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolves?

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE:  
Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad, Wolves?**

**

* * *

**

Riding a Centaur is not something that most people, even in Narnia, ever get to experience.

In fact, there's an old Narnian saying which goes: _"it's as impossible as putting a saddle on a Centaur," _and which is only used about things you're completely sure can't be done. Centaurs are proud, free creatures and not, as they themselves would indignantly say, pack-horses. Only once in a very great while, and only when no other solutions would be practical, might some of the more free-minded centaurs allow someone to ride them. This is considered a great honor and privilege.

If Leonardo had known all this, he might have appreciated his ride a little more. As it was, the main thing he appreciated was the fact that he'd been trained in keeping his balance, and endure pain and discomfort, from an early age. It was much harder and more uncomfortable to ride a centaur than it was to ride those horses he'd gotten to ride back in his own world; not only was there a lack of a saddle, but Moorwin also clearly wasn't used to having passengers and took little care for him as she galloped forward through the woods.

"How far is it to Cair Paravel?" Leo shouted above the wind in his ears.

"About one hour, if I could gallop the whole time," Moorwin answered back. "But I can't do that, especially not with a passenger! I will have to slow down soon! How fast would you say your invisible creatures were moving?"

"Nowhere near as fast as your galloping!"

"Good! With a bit of luck, we've overtaken them by now!"

Soon after, Moorwin did slow down to a trot -- which was both better and worse for her passenger, as the pace grew more comfortable, but the amount of bouncing up and down grew worse. If they hadn't been in such a hurry, Leo thought as he tried remembering the meager riding lessons he'd had (was it something about rising up and down in rhythm with the horse to avoid being jolted?), he would rather have walked.

His situation was not, he mused, a bright one -- though he had been in much worse places than this, none of them had ran on such a strange and unpredictable time that there was a very real danger that even if he did make it home, everyone he knew and loved would have died of old age. He _could_, of course, end up being lucky and return to his own world only seconds after he'd left, but how could he be certain?

Just then, a sharp jolt brought on by Moorwin jumping over a small brook tore him out of his gloomy thoughts, and for a few seconds all he cared about was regaining his balance and not falling off. Even several minutes after he'd steadied himself, his mind was fully occupied with just how bumpy and awkward this ride was.

But now he felt his resolve strengthening. There was no point in thinking about time now; there was absolutely nothing to be done about it at the very moment, and he'd probably be better advised focusing on his current situation and what he _could_ do. He was, after all, a Turtle on a mission, and if the benevolent king of this land (because there was no reason to assume that this King Rilian was anything but benevolent) was threatened, and Leonardo was in a position to do something about it, then... well,_ not_ doing anything would just be dishonorable.

He was sure that his family would have agreed with him there.

"You did not by any chance happen to see, or feel, if we were passing the invisible creatures?" said Moorwin, sounding slightly out of breath (though not nearly as much as anyone else might have after sunning for so long).

"No, but I wasn't really in an ideal position for feeling anything," said Leo apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to riding."

"And I'm not used to having a passenger, so we're even there," said Moorwin. "But when the King's safety is at stake, we must all make sacrifices." She seemed to have caught more of her breath now, so she went on as she trotted: "How much do you know about Narnian history?"

"Only what Portly told me."

"Knowing Portly, that would have been quite a bit. Still..." Moorwin seemed to consider her words. "We Narnians are perhaps a little over-protective of King Rilian. But we almost lost him once."

"I didn't hear that part of the story."

"I won't make too long a tale of it," said Moorwin, "for I don't think I have the breath for that. Suffice to say, back when he was still Prince Rilian, the king once vanished from Narnia and was gone for years. We all feared he was dead, but it turned out he had been imprisoned by a powerful Enchantress."

"What happened?" said Leo, glad to have something besides the riding to focus on.

"Two children came from another world and broke the enchantment and freed him. Which is why we now call him 'Rilian the Disenchanted.' That was ten years ago. I was only a foal back then, but I remember seeing the children." This speech seemed to have taken up quite a bit of Moorwin's breath, so she had to pause a little before she continued, not without a certain pride: "My father was one of the centaurs that carried them back to Cair Paravel. In fact, they went along the same path we're going now."

"Hmmm," said Leo, because this new information had given him another thought."What happened to the children afterwards?"

"They went back to their own world, I reckon. Isn't that what they all do in the end?"

"Moorwin," said Leo, "am I right when I say that on all the occasions when someone came from other worlds to Narnia, it was to either put a king on the throne, or to remove a king or queen that was ruling without the right to do so, or to help out a king in a time of great need?"

"I haven't heard it put quite like that before," said Moorwin after a brief pause. "Mostly, it's agreed that they come when Narnia is in need of aid. But then again -- the fate and well-being of a King is often closely linked with that of his country!"

Leo didn't answer that, partly because Moorwin now decided that it was time for another gallop, and once again he had to focus on bracing himself so he wouldn't fall off. Nonetheless, he thought when he had steadied himself, all this couldn't be coincidental. Portly and Glenstormer had been right: Whatever had or had not happened for Leo to suddenly find himself in this strange country, all signs pointed to one thing: it seemed like he was the latest in the line of people called to aid Narnia.

Luckily, the Narnians seemed friendly enough, and it was always a relief to meet people who didn't question his strange appearance... but there was something, well, _odd_ about them. Oh, he didn't think they were evil or anything, but there was just something about this place and its people that struck Leo as... different. And it wasn't just the fact that they seemed to consist mostly of centaurs and dwarfs and talking animals and other strange creatures either.

_It's more like the land itself,_ he realized. _Something about the air... and the plants and trees... and even the ground and rocks. They seem slightly more..._

Try as he might, though, he couldn't really identify exactly what there was more of, or why he felt that there was more of it, or what it all meant.

* * *

The journey went on. Moorwin went as she had said -- short periods of intense gallop, longer periods of brisk trot. And Leo didn't know if the air and the land was having some unexpected effect on him, or if he was just discovering that he really did have a natural talent for horseback riding and just never had the chance to properly develop before, but he found that the ride was becoming easier as time passed.

That's not to say he wouldn't still be glad when this ride was over, but the bumping and bouncing were slowly starting to bother him less. After some time, he thought he barely felt them anymore -- though just as he'd thought that, he realized that he did still feel them. His arms and legs ached from holding on for so long, and his body felt more than a little beat-up. But (and here he gacve a silent thanks to his endurance training) he found that he could still cling on.

The landscape was starting to change around them; the lush and dense forest thinning out until it was replaced completely by a grassy plain, a well-travelled dirt road stretching across it and towards the horizon. And then, in the distance, on a hill and overlooking what seemed to be a small village, a castle.

Even from such a long way off, Leo could see how huge, how impressive, it was. Built in stone and looking as if it could stand up to almost any siege, it was a castle that any king would have been proud to call his own.

"Cair Paravel," said Moorwin, quite unnecessarily. "We are almost there! Let us gallop the last bit!"

"Wait!" Leo suddenly shouted, as another sensation overcame him, a feeling of displacement, of something _wrong..._

"What is it?" Moorwin came to a halt.

Leonardo briefly closed his eyes, focusing intensely on the sensation. _Something was there. Something unseen, unheard._ He opened his eyes again. "They're here. Just behind us, but closing in fast."

"The invisible creatures?" said Moorwin.

"That's them," said Leo. All of a sudden, he didn't feel so sore or tired anymore; he instead felt the familiar excited tenseness he always felt right before going into battle. "Get ready to run. I'm not used to horseback, or Centaurback fighting, but if we need to fight them..."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Moorwin. "You can't fight invisible creatures. You won't even be able to see where they are."

"I don't need to see them," said Leo. He took a few deep breaths and concentrated. _Don't be fooled by the invisibility. The creatures are there, they're just trying to convince the world around them that they're not. Don't pay attention to that. See what's there, not what they want you to think is there._

And now he knew for certain that ten or twelve creatures were approaching him at great speed. He couldn't tell just what they were yet, but he could definitely tell that they were _not_ friendly. They had a feel to them that he was all too familiar with; he'd felt it with Foot ninjas, Triceraton soldiers, and numerous others he'd encountered over the years: They were killers, killers on a mission who wouldn't hesitate to take down anyone who might get in their way.

But he had dealt with such people before.

"Who goes there?!" he called, drawing his swords. "You may be invisible, but I know you're there! Show yourselves!"

The creatures, seemingly surprised, slowed down before him. He was beginning to make out their shapes now; they seemed like four-legged creatures at first but as they came closer some of them seemed to shift and take on a more human shape. It was as if they came more and more into focus as they slowed, and he heard one of them speak, with a gruff voice: "I thought you said we would be invisible to all like this!"

Another one, the one that Leo judged the biggest and probably the leader, said in a voice that sounded wilder, harsher and stronger: "We were supposed to be." The creature fixed Leo with a stare, and came even more into focus; it seemed like a man, but an extremely wild and feral man dressed in ragged furs. "Who are you, who can see through the Red Lady's powerful enchantments?!"

"You tell me who you are first," said Leo, making sure to keep both his swords in plain sight. "Be warned -- if you approach the castle with hostile intentions, we _will_ fight you!"

The creatures came even more into focus, and it seemed as though whatever it was made them invisible was wearing off as they spoke, because Moorwin took an involuntary step back as they grew clearer and sharper; twelve beings, some looking like their leader -- wild, and savage men -- while others looked like unnaturally large wolves, and yet others appeared as some strange hybrid of human and wolf, but were growing less wolf and more human by the second.

"Werewolves!" Moorwin exclaimed.

"I was not addressing _you_, horse," the leader snarled. "We have business with the so-called King of Narnia. A business proposal, so to speak, to the mutual benefit of everyone."

"I see," said Leo. The feeling of fierce hostility radiating from the creatures didn't exactly make him inclined to trust them. "Tell us this business proposal, then."

"I have a different proposal for you," said the leader, his voice twisting into a savage growl. "Stand aside, and we will not kill you!"

"If that's the attitude you bring forth business proposals with," said Leonardo, "then I doubt you'll get to any sort of agreement with the King. Royalty have this thing about good manners. And I'm sure that trying to sneak up on them while invisible counts as a breach of etiquette as well. Now, I suggest you turn around and go back while you still can!"

The savage growl of the leader was picked up by the rest of the Werewolves, a few of them looking ready to attack there and then. "Why should we pay any heed to your words?" said the leader. "We outnumber you. If you fight, you shall die!"

"Perhaps," said Leo loudly, to make himself heard over the growls, "but take this into consideration: You're no longer invisible, and can, I should think, be easily seen from the watchtowers at the castle even from here. To get to the King, you have to get through the village, and even if they managed, the castle is bound to have guards and archers. You'd be dead long before you could even get the King in your sight."

For a long moment, the Werewolves glared at him, their bodies poised to attack. Leo braced himself, and felt Moorwin do the same, for the inevitable battle... but then, the leader made a sort of hand signal to his comrades, and in one swift movement all of them dropped down on four legs, turning back into wolves, and turning around to start running back towards the forest.

Leo didn't waste any time. "Go!" he hissed to Moorwin, sheathing his swords and clinging onto her.

It took a few seconds before the words registered with the Centaur, who was apparently baffled that the inevitable battle had somehow not happened, but then she seemed to understand, and she turned and began galloping towards the castle at full speed.

"I've never heard of anyone _talking_ their way out of a situation with angry Werewolves before," she panted. "They're savage beasts!"

"Let's just hope they don't remember that and try to come after us before we've reached the --" Leo glanced back, and saw to his horror that three of the Wolves had turned and were running after them, even as, in the far distance, the leader howled for them to come back. They were probably the ones that had given into the rage instead of following the more sensible route of caution, Leo thought fleetingly before making a decision. "Run to the village as fast as you can! Warn them!"

"What are you --" Moorwin began, but didn't get any further as Leo jumped off her back and rolled as he hit the ground.

Ignoring the pain that shot through his sore and aching body, he got to his feet, drawing his swords again. _"GO!"_ he roared, using the same voice that he used with Raphael whenever his brother got stubborn and there wasn't time for a longer argument. "They can't be allowed to reached the village! Too many innocents! I'll hold them off!"

Moorwin wavered for a split second, but then ran in the direction of the village at an even higher speed than she had managed with Leo on her back.

Content that she would reach the village and at least give the people there some warning before they were attacked by raging Werewolves, Leonardo turned back to face the three charging creatures, who were gaining in on him with the speed, it seemed, of race cars.

"Come on," he taunted, to make sure their attentions were all on him on not on Moorwin. "Who's afraid of the big, bad Wolves?"

The fastest Wolf sprang on him like a furry streak of lightning with bared teeth and claws, but Leo was prepared for just this, and threw himself aside at the last minute, so the Werewolf landed ungraciously in the dirt, leaving itself open for the slicing of Leo's sword. A neck -- be it animal or human -- is actually quite a bit tougher than most people think, and a Werewolf's neck tougher still, but nevertheless, and with one swift, skillful swing of the sword, the Werewolf's head was separated from its body.

Leo had no time to celebrate his victory, because the two other Wolves were jumping on him now, both at the same time. One of them, he managed to avoid completely, but the other collided with him and sent them both tumbling down. For a brief moment, everything was complete chaos, with furious claws slashing against him and teeth snapping wildly in front of him, but thankfully, the wolf misjudged and only managed to scrape his plastron. It would have been lethal to a human, but as a Turtle, Leo's heart was protected by a shell that the Werewolf's claws didn't manage to slash through.

Kicking as hard as he could, Leo was able to send his opponent flying before getting back to his feet just in time to have the other Werewolf, the one that had missed, attack with a ferocious growl. Leo just narrowly avoided being pushed over again, jumping aside and onto the second Werewolf, which was in the process of raising itself again but now collapsed under the sudden extra weight.

"Back off, or I kill your comrade here!" Leo shouted to the first Wolf, as he brought one of his swords down to the second one's neck.

It didn't work. The Wolf merely jumped at him again, with bared teeth, and Leo had no choice but to slice at it with both swords and jump aside.

The Wolf stumbled and fell to the ground, dead.

The one remaining Wolf tried snarling, but couldn't quite seem to manage. Since Leo had been forced to jump off it, it was rid of the extra weight (and of the threatening sword towards its neck), and managed to raise itself

"You will... pay for this, creature," it threatened, coughing and wheezing.

"That may be, but you aren't the one who'll make me pay," said Leo, holding both swords out at it. "Surrender. You're wounded and weak, and you don't stand a chance."

The Wolf's eyes narrowed, filled with hatred, but it didn't answer.

"What do you want with the King of Narnia? Who sent you?" Leo demanded.

"We were sent by... the Red Lady," it answered. "That is... all you will learn from me." With that, and with a sudden and surprising new vitality, it turned and ran, away from the village and back to the forest, where its other comrades had vanished previously.

Leo let it run. It was too fast for him, and besides, he hated killing, even when it was necessary, even in honorable combat like this. That werewolf had had enough wind knocked out of it for now what it wouldn't be a threat, at least for a while.

Not to _mention_, now that the danger was over and the adrenaline level was sinking, he again realized just how much his entire body was aching after that ride through the forest.

He looked over at the bodies at the two other Werewolves and briefly considered making a fire and burning the bodies -- it wouldn't do at all to just leave them lying there -- but in the end, he decided against it. It would only take time and resources he didn't have. He'd just have to get someone from the village to come and tend to the bodies, or...

He looked up as he heard hoofbeats from the distance. Moorwin had returned from the village, and was galloping towards him. Leo hailed her with both swords, before stepping over to the edge of the road to wipe the blood of the swords in the grass. It would have to do until he had the time to clean them properly.

"I returned as quickly as I could," said the Centaur. "The villagers are warned, and a couple of the knights are saddling up and ready to ride to your aid as we speak. Where is the third Werewolf?" she added as she saw the two bodies lying there in the middle of the road.

"It ran," said Leo. "Apparently, it didn't feel like taking chances. Do you think these knights will be able to take care of these bodies? I'd do it, but... I left my matches in my other belt."

Moorwin flashed him a rare smile. "I am sure arrangements will be made. You have probably done enough for one day -- foiled a probably threat to the King, killed two Werewolves and frightened off ten more... that is a good day's work in my eyes. The King shall want to reward you for this!"

"If he could arrange it so I could have a hot bath, that would be nice," said Leo, stretching his sore muscles. "I wish we knew more about who'd sent those Werewolves, though. I was hoping to take one or more of them alive, to interrogate, but they didn't give me that option. I suppose we could try running after the one that got away, but he has to be far off by now."

"And Werewolves are experts in covering their tracks," said Moorwin. "Not even the best hunter in Narnia could track one that did not want to be tracked. But I suppose you, with your, shall we say, skill in sensing them...?"

"I can really only do that if they're in my immediate surroundings. Useful for hide-and-go-seek, but not for tracking." Leo paused, as he remember what the surviving werewolf had said. "By the way, you wouldn't know who the 'Red Lady' is supposed to be, do you?"

Moorwin shook her head. "I heard the Werewolves mention the name, but I can't say I'd ever encountered it before."

"Well, the one who ran for it just now said that she was the one who'd sent them in the first place."

"Perhaps the King, or at least someone in Cair Paravel, knows more," said Moorwin thoughtfully. "We had better request an audience as soon as possible." She was about to say something else, when once again, hoofbeats were heard from the direction of the village.

They both turned to see two men on horseback, clad in armor, coming rushing towards them. They were, as Leo guessed, the knights from the village, come out to help them against the werewolves.

As Raphael might have said, had he been there, _'trust the cavalry to arrive just after the danger is past.'_

* * *

Just at the edge of the forest, the wounded Werewolf rejoined his comrades, who were waiting for him, still in wolf forms, in the shadows under the trees.

The leader greeted him with a mighty blow of his paw that sent him tumbling, and then stood above him with bared teeth, as the other Wolves gathered in a circle around the two, watching with detached emotionlessness. None of them felt, or even thought about feeling, the slightest bit of sympathy -- the culprit had disobeyed a direct order, and was now getting his punishment, as was only fitting.

"Idiot!" the leader growled. "Did I not tell you not to go back? The green creature was right, we would never have gotten to Cair Paravel without the invisibility spell of the Red Lady."

The wounded Werewolf tried to raise himself, but was knocked down again. "We shouldn't have allowed the Green Creature and the Centaur to live," he said weakly. "Now they will inform the King, and Cair Paravel will know about us. They'll increase their guard, probably employ magicians to see about countering invisibility spells. Any hope we might have had about reaching the castle at all is gone, Red Lady or no."

"That might very well be," the leader agreed. "But you and the other two still disobeyed orders, and look where it got you."

"Why could we not," the wounded Wolf said, knowing he was fighting a losing battle but determined to make his point nonetheless, "have charged the Green Creature and the Centaur all at once? We could have stopped them and killed them before they ever reached the village! They wouldn't have stood a chance against all of us!"

"We did not do that," said the leader, "because we were too close to the village and were at risk of being seen and hunted down by the villagers. We did not do that because the Green Creature is an unknown factor in this, and a warrior besides -- and it's folly to rush into unprepared combat with an obviously powerful enemy that you know nothing about. And, most importantly, and this is really all the reason you _should_ need," he said, letting his voice become a snarl, "we did not do that _because I said so."_

There was a short pause. Nobody spoke, or even made a sound.

Then, the leader got off the wounded culprit and looked at the others. "We will have to inform the Red Lady about this new development," he said. "We will also have to inform her that the first part of her plan has failed... as well as trying to find out why her invisibility spell faded when we talked to the green creature. As a little reward for your folly," he added, looking at the wounded wolf, "_you_ shall be the one to ask her."

The wolf got back to his feet and whimpered nervously.

**

* * *

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**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**Author's notes:** I know, I know, the traditional legends say that werewolves can only be killed by silver or fire. But Narnian Werewolves are different from most of the legends -- the one in _Prince Caspian_ dies quite easily from a normal steel sword, and even though Caspian is bitten by it, he does not turn into a werewolf himself, nor is it ever mentioned that he might have.

As for the village near Cair Paravel: You're right, Narnia-fans, if you read the books they say nothing about a village. However, in _The Last Battle_ (which takes place hundreds of years after this story), there's a _city _around Cair Paravel. So the village here is the meager beginnings of this, though it'll take two hundred years before it's grown large enough to be called a city.

In the next chapter, we're back in New York again (yeah, we're doing the "every other chapter" thing, but you must have caught onto that by now) to hear Susan's story, and why she turned away from Narnia in the first place.


	5. What Aslan Said

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

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* * *

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**CHAPTER FOUR:  
What Aslan Said**

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* * *

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Susan Pevensie had been twelve years old when she had first stepped through the strange wardrobe and been brought to the land of Narnia, the land of the Dwarfs and Fauns, the Dryads and River-Gods and Talking Beasts. It had been a magical and marvelous time, filled with adventure and wonder of the sort that few people in this world ever get to experience, and at the time Susan had been quite sure that no matter how old she grew she would never forget it.

Even after her sudden and unexpected return to her own world from Narnia, she -- along with her brothers and sister -- had been convinced that she would always remember it. She'd remembered the battles, the parties, the tournaments, the fair castle Cair Paravel. She'd remember the Mermaids and the Centaurs, the dear old Beavers. And she'd always, _always_ remember how it had felt when she, Peter, Edmund and Lucy had been crowned Kings and Queens in Narnia.

And above all... Aslan, the great lion, the King over all Kings; as wild and ferocious as a thunderstorm and yet as mild and gentle as the softest summer rain. Aslan, who was not (as Narnians were fond of saying) a _tame_ lion, who always came and went exactly as he wanted and was often hard to predict and impossible to understand, but could always be relied upon. Susan knew, as surely as she knew anything, that she would never, _could_ never forget him.

What had happened to that young girl who knew these things so firmly, and how could she have proven to be so utterly wrong in her belief?

Susan Palmer (formerly Pevensie) looked at the odd gathering of guests in her living room and almost wished she didn't know the answer to that particular question.

For the first time in years, probably because she was suddenly having unknown visitors, Susan realized just how overcrowded, filled with _things_, her apartment was. It was actually fairly large, but seemed much smaller because there was so little free space anywhere. Her living room alone had more chairs and pieces of furniture than one woman could possibly need, the walls were so crammed with pictures, paintings, framed photographs and kids' drawings (the carefully conserved artwork of children and grandchildren) that it was almost impossible to tell what color the wallpaper was. Trinkets and souvenirs and "conversation pieces" filled up shelves and tables and the top of the television.

She didn't even know what she needed all those things for anymore. She had just gotten into the habit of _not_ throwing anything away, and it showed on her apartment. Some of the things she had here were several decades old, and hadn't been looked properly at by anyone for almost as long.

The only guest clearly not concerned about knocking things over was the cat; probably because he was the only one small enough to move about with complete ease. While all the others had hurried to find chairs and sit down before an accident could happen, the cat spent some time sniffing around and examining the room with great interest. Despite the fact that the cat was completely normal-looking; the sort of house-cat you could find just about anywhere, Susan found her eyes drawn to him more than any of the other, more bizarre-looking guests.

An actual, talking cat. Yes, he was much smaller than the Talking Cats she had known in Narnia, but there was no mistaking that sharp, intelligent look in his eyes. Or, for that matter, that typical feline self-importance when he claimed to be "the Chosen of Aslan."

For a brief moment, Susan had been twelve years old again and back in Narnia.

Now, she was sitting in her own living room with what was probably the oddest bunch that had ever set foot inside that building: Three gigantic humanoid turtles wearing belts, masks and carrying strange weapons; a smaller but still huge humanoid rat wearing some kind of robe, a normal-looking tomcat that spent his time in roughly equal parts acting like a normal cat and chatting up a storm... and a young woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, who looked like as far as she was concerned, this was all completely normal.

"And now you know our story, Mrs. Palmer," said the rat -- Splinter -- who put Susan in mind of some of the older Centaurs she had known in Narnia; wise, gentle and kind, but with a definite edge to him that suggested that he wasn't someone to cross. "We apologize for intruding on your home like this, but I hope you understand why we needed to."

Susan nodded, trying to pull herself together. "I... understand. It's just been so long," she muttered. "I'm sorry about that crying scene out there.... and about my reaction on the telephone earlier." (She glanced at one of the Turtles, who had identified himself as the same "Mike" who had called her earlier in the day.) "It just came so... well... for decades, I've been convincing myself that it was all just a dream, a silly childhood game..."

"Why'd you wanna do that?" said Mike, looking genuinely curious. "If it had been _me_ who got to hang out with a talking lion in a magical land..."

"I never got to 'hang out' with him, as you put it," said Susan. She felt old again; old and tired and overwhelmed by everything. "He was more... I don't know. He showed up from time to time, but mostly only when we needed him. No," she corrected herself, "there were other times as well. But he never stayed for very long at a time."

"Okay," said Mike. "Scratch the 'hang-out' part. Still doesn't explain why you wouldn't wanna remember something like that."

Susan sighed. "I suppose it started the very last time I saw him... that was when everything started to go wrong."

* * *

It was at the end of Susan's second visit to Narnia -- after the crowning of Caspian the Tenth, whom Susan and her siblings had helped gain the throne that was his birthright. It was early in the morning, just after breakfast, when Aslan had asked Susan and Peter to walk with him, a little way away from everyone.

"Your time in Narnia is soon at an end," the Lion said in a quiet voice, as soon as they were far enough away that they wouldn't be overheard. "You must now prepare to return to your own world."

"Already?" Susan felt the disappointment well up inside her. They'd only been in Narnia for a few days this time around, and she had been looking forward to a longer stay, now that the evil Miraz was gone and everything was coming out all right again.

"Every journey has an ending," said Aslan, slowly turning his huge head to look at them both. "Children, there are a few things I must tell you -- and I must tell them to you now. Once you have gone back to your own world, the two of you can never return to Narnia."

And these words, spoken in such a mild and gentle voice, hit Susan hard. The disappointment she had felt just moments before paled next to the sense of dread and despair that now hit her, literally taking her breath away and leaving her completely unable to speak. She might even have fallen down, if she hadn't at the last minute grabbed hold of Peter and steadied herself.

Even Peter seemed shocked. "Never?" he said.

"Never," the Lion answered. "Understand this, Son of Adam: No living creature can ever truly belong to more than one world. You were brought to Narnia so you might, for some time, know it... But it is not your true home. And as you are growing older, it is now time for you to know your _own_ world, as it is time for your world to truly know _you_."

"No!" Susan wanted to shout it out, but it had come out more like a very undignified croak. "Aslan, you can't tell us to leave Narnia and never come back!" Her voice grew louder, stronger, even as tears gathered in her eyes: "We've done everything you asked, and now you're rewarding us by kicking us out?!"

"Daughter of Eve...!" said Aslan, a slight roar lurking underneath his voice and threatening to emerge, and Susan knew she had gone much too far.

"Yes, Aslan. Sorry, Aslan," she said meekly. Of all the times she had been chastised in her life, this one ranked as the single worst. Aslan said nothing more, and it was over in mere seconds, but that hint of a roar directed at her felt ten times worse than an hour-long screaming session from anyone else would have.

Peter just looked at her, seeming like he wanted to add something not-very-nice, but apparently thought better of it. Instead, he turned back to Aslan. "I... think I understand," he said, somewhat hesitantly. "I suppose we've had our time, right?"

"My dear son," said Aslan. "Your time, and everyone else's, has always been _right now._ It's up to everyone to spend it wisely, whether it they live in Narnia or elsewhere." He paused, looking at both Peter and Susan, his eyes lingering slightly longer on Susan as if he wanted to make sure she was getting this. "We will all see each other again, but it will not be in Narnia. This land will be closed to you forever after, and there is nothing you, or I, can do to make it otherwise."

Peter nodded, as if he understood. "What about Edmund and Lucy, though?" he said. "Won't they come back to Narnia either?"

Aslan looked at him. "That is part of _their_ story," was all he said.

"That means they are, doesn't it..." Susan muttered. She knew it was probably a bad thing to be jealous, but she couldn't help herself -- she, Queen Susan the Gentle, famed and beloved for her kindness and generosity, was feeling horribly jealous of her brother and sister. They could still return to the land that she herself would soon be banned from.

"Be of good cheer," said Aslan, as if he had guessed what she thought. "Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen. Do what you can, with what you have, where you are, and no-one can ask anything more of you."

It was some time later when Peter and Susan returned to the others. The last part of the conversation with Aslan had mostly been about practical things about their journey home and how everything was to be arranged. He might have said a few other things, but Susan -- try as she might to be of good cheer -- hadn't really been in the mood to listen, and if Aslan has noticed this, he hadn't said anything about it.

She wasn't at all sure she managed to fool her brother with her insincere smiles as they walked back.

"Come off it, Su," he said. "If that fake grin of yours gets any wider, your face is going to split in half. A fair sight that would be, for the Narnians, as their last glimpse of the beautiful Queen Susan." He chuckled, but then grew serious again. "Look, I'm sure Aslan didn't mean that you weren't allowed to be upset that we can't return to Narnia."

"But why can't we?" Susan sighed, letting go of her smile with some relief. "We're younger now than we were when -- I mean, last time we were in Narnia, we were here so long that we were all grown-ups in the end. During all those years, nobody told us we were too old. Not to mention, I'm no older now than you were when we first arrived, so I don't see how it can make any sense anyway! Why is it all right for _you_ to visit Narnia at the age of thirteen, but when _I'm_ thirteen, I'm suddenly too old?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't make the rules, Su," he said. "I think we just have to accept that some things have to end. Our time in Narnia was wonderful, but it's finished now. I think what Aslan was trying to say was that it's time to live in our own world, you know, succeed on our own terms. Not use Narnia to escape from our lives there. I know how you feel, but --"

"Oh, you do, do you?" Susan interrupted, speaking a little more harshly than she had intended.

"Of course I do. I just went through the exact same thing as you did, remember?!"

Susan didn't answer. For one brief, fleeting moment, she resented her brother; he was the High King, he always took everything in stride, he never did anything wrong and never felt anything that he shouldn't. How could he know anything about how she felt right now?

But the feeling vanished almost as soon as it had come. She couldn't blame Peter for this. She couldn't even blame Edmund and Lucy. None of this was their fault, not in the least. It wouldn't be right for her to spoil their last moments in Narnia together. She couldn't blame the Narnians either -- she supposed she owed it to them to part from them graciously.

So she put on a brave face and didn't mention any of her true feelings to anyone. When Caspian later offered her horn back, she told him to keep it -- as fit her image as the kind and generous queen, but in reality it was mostly because she didn't think she could bear having anything from Narnia with her to remind herself that she couldn't ever come back.

* * *

"Wait, what's this horn you're talking about?" said one of the Turtles -- Donatello, if Susan remembered correctly.

"Oh, sorry," said Susan. "I kind of forgot myself when I was talking. For a moment there, I'd forgotten you weren't Narnian creatures."

"I'm from Manhattan," Klunk offered, having grown bored with his exploration and jumped up in Mike's lap.

Susan held back a smile. "Well, the horn I was talking about was one of my dearest possessions back then, and one of Narnia's greatest treasures... in fact, Narnians used to call me _'Queen Susan of the Horn.'_ It was a magical horn that I could blow in if I was in danger, and help would always arrive. That was how Caspian called us back to Narnia that second time. He blew the horn and I was pulled back to Narnia together with my siblings."

"Lemme get this straight," said the third Turtle -- Raphael -- who had been silent until now. "At first, you come into this Narnia place through a wardrobe, and then, after havin' spent several years there you came back to this world. _Then,_ one year later, you go back to Narnia because some guy blows a magic horn, and then you're kicked out -- am I missin' anything?"

"That's a very crude way of putting it," said Susan. "But yes, I suppose so. After that... well, I suppose I just wanted to forget everything. Call it a sort of petty revenge."

"You felt betrayed and hurt," said April. There was a sense of understanding in her eyes, and for a moment, Susan wondered what this young woman had been through in her life.

She decided not to ask, though, and simply nodded. "Mostly. Now that I think about it, though, the coming and going between worlds always did something odd to us. The longer we stayed in one world, the easier it became to forget about the other. And all the things I learned in Narnia... they didn't stay with me here. That made it easier to pretend none of it had ever happened. There couldn't _actually_ have been a land with talking animals and other things you only find in fairytales. But..." and here she looked at Klunk again. "Here you are."

"And in need of your help, Mrs. Palmer," said Splinter. "Please. You are the only one who can help us find Leonardo."

Susan felt ashamed of herself. Queen Susan the Gentle, indeed -- here she was complaining about things that had happened over fifty years ago, all while these creatures were looking to her for assistance. They were probably worried sick over their lost family member. "I would like to help," she said silently. "But I don't know how. I can't open doors between worlds."

"Aslan believed you could," said Splinter.

"Aslan..." Susan sighed wistfully. "I don't know what he thinks I can do. We didn't exactly part on good terms."

"I do not believe he is angry with you," said Splinter gently. "I believe he misses you. As any father would miss his children."

"Can't we just find that wardrobe again?" said Mike, obviously trying to make light of the situation. "Ya know what happened to it?"

"Not in any great detail, I'm afraid. I think it was sold on an auction after its original owner lost his fortune and his house. I have no idea where it is now, or even if it still exists."

Susan smiled slightly remembered the old, loveable Professor Kirke. He had been heart-broken to see his old home go, and had even recruited the help of Peter to go around with a camera to take pictures of his house and most treasured belongings, so that he would at least have some photographs to remember them by. The memory was both silly and sad at the same time.

"You must know a way, Mrs. Palmer," came Splinter's voice, pulling her out of her memories. "Even if you might not remember it, you know it. You just need to find it."

"What Master Splinter is too polite to say;" Raphael interrupted, "is that we're not leaving until you find some way of gettin' Leo back, so start wringin' your brain."

"Raphael...!" Splinter snapped, but without very much force to it.

"Well, maybe we can find another wardrobe?" said Mike, who obviously felt that the subject of wardrobes wasn't quite out-debated yet. "Hey, yeah! If _one_ wardrobe works, why not another?"

"Because," said Susan with a sigh, "that wardrobe was special. One of a kind. It was made out of wood from a tree that hailed from Narnia. You... couldn't..." She heard her own voice trail off as, all of a sudden, Aslan's voice came back to her -- as strong and clear as if it had been only minutes since she talked to him last and not years:

_"Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen. Do what you can, with what you have, where you are, and no-one can ask anything more of you."_

Could he possibly mean...?

"...Couldn't what?" said Mike, waiting for a continuation.

"I think I have an idea;" said Susan, casting a glance at the picture of herself and her siblings from so long ago. "It's absolutely absurd, but..."

The Turtles, Splinter, April and Klunk all leant closer as she paused, as if afraid that the idea would vanish if they kept too much of a distance from her.

"Please tell me that your next words are going to be_ 'but it just might work,'"_ said Donatello.

Almost despite herself, Susan felt a smile well up from inside.

* * *

"Have I mentioned how stupid this is?" said Raphael as he leafed through one of the oldest, dustiest photo albums.

"Not for at least twenty seconds," said Donatello dryly, putting down his own photo album and reaching for a new one from the pile. "Do you have a better idea, Raph?"

"Any idea would be better than lookin' at family photos!"

"We're not looking at family photos, we're looking for pictures of the wardrobe."

"I'm sorry I can't say just where the pictures are," said Susan apologetically, looking up from her own photo album. "My husband was a passionate amateur phoptographer. He was always taking pictures, and then re-arranging them and placing them in different albums... I haven't really looked through any of these since he died, five years ago."

"Oooh, who's this? She's pretty!"

Susan gazed at the page Mike held up. "Oh, that's me at the age of... let's see... I must have been in my late twenties. I'd been married for a couple of years then. That means that you're holding a much too recent album... try looking for an older one."

"These pictures kinda makes me wish I'd known your family," said Mike as he reached for another album. "They look like nice people."

Susan nodded. "Oh, they were. Or are, the ones who are left. Husband's gone, of course, and my oldest son... Let's see... yes, that's him there," she said, pointing out a tall, dark-haired man with a mustache in one of the photos. "He was named Peter after his uncle, he went to war and never came back..."

"I'm sorry," said Mike.

"It's all right. He died a hero, or so they tell me." Susan smiled, a little sadly. "But, those aren't the pictures we're looking for. We need older ones. I wish I could remember which albums my husband put those really _old_ ones in..."

Silence spread in the living room, the only noise being the turning of cardboard pages as the Turtles, Splinter, April and Susan meticulously went through the huge number of photo albums and pictures in Susan's collection. They all knew what they were looking for, but had very little idea of _where_ they would find it.

(Only Klunk -- who had no hands to turn pages anyway -- was exempt from the search. True to his cat nature, he had decided that if there was nothing he could do at the moment, then he might as well not do anything, and so he had curled up in Mike's lap and fallen asleep.)

It was fascinating, really, Mike thought, how much of a life you could sum up in a few pictures. Susan hadn't said a lot about her life outside of Narnia, but even from looking through a fraction of the pictures in the albums, most of them no doubt taken by her obviously photo-mad husband, Mike could already sum up quite a bit of Susan Palmer's life: She had been born in England, but had moved to America in her early twenties, and there she had met her husband, married and raised three children -- one boy and two girls -- who had all eventually married and had children of their own. They seemed like a happy family too... well, not insanely and abnormally happy, like families in old sitcoms or anything, but just normal people who knew how to appreciate the good things in life.

There was, in short, very little that Mike could see of the sadness and bitterness he had heard in the woman's voice when she told about her last moments in Narnia.

Either Susan Palmer was the world's greatest actor, or...

"I think I found something!" said Donatello.

Mike looked up, seeing that everyone else had stopped their own searching through photo albums and were looking at Don. Klunk stirred and yawned.

"Are these the right pictures, Mrs. Palmer?" said Don, holding up an old-looking photo album, having opened it on a page displaying an unnatural number of pictures of an old wooden wardrobe. The pictures were clearly old, and the wardrobe itself was markedly unimpressive, with a certain, well, home-made quality to it.

Slowly, Susan raised herself and, almost like in a trance she reached for the photo album. "It's the one," she said. "I would know that wardrobe anywhere." She carefully removed one of the pictures from the album -- a straight-on shot of the front of the wardrobe -- and placed it gently on the table in front of her, so everyone could see. "These photos are just about the only things I have left of the Professor," she said, a little sadly. "After he'd died in that train accident, I discovered that he'd stated in his will that I should have his photos. He was quite insistent upon me keeping them, too... I wonder if he ever suspected...?" she trailed off.

"All right, so now we know what the wardrobe looks like," said Raph, leaning back in his chair after having examined the picture. "Now what?!"

"I got it!" said Klunk excitedly. "What we do is take copies of the picture and put up wanted posters!_ 'Have you seen this wardrobe? Report immediately to Susan Palmer! Do not attempt to apprehend this wardrobe yourself, as it is armed and dangerous and --'_ ...what?" he added as everyone looked at him.

"We really have to start being careful with what we watch on TV when you're in the room," said Don with a sigh.

"I believe Mrs. Palmer has somewhat simpler solution in mind," said Splinter.

Susan nodded. "I remembered something that Aslan once told me. You should always do what you can, with what you have, where you are... and we don't have the actual wardrobe itself, but we _do_ have a picture of it."

"Oh, great," said Raph, his voice oozing sarcasm as he raised himself from his chair. "Perfect. We got a picture, yeah, that'll help! Hey, maybe we can get a pair of scissors and cut out a tiny little door in the picture, and then we can all walk through it, one by one, go on, there's plenty of room for us all --!"

_"RAPHAEL!"_ Splinter snapped. "You are a guest in this house, and you will behave!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm worried about Leo, all right?" Raph said, a little more subdued. "Master Splinter, he could be in trouble, and all we're doin' is sittin' around here and lookin' at --"

_"Enough!"_ The voice was sharp and loud enough that everybody turned to look at Susan again.

The old woman had raised herself from her chair, having drawn herself to her full height for the first time Mike had seen, standing surprisingly tall and straight and with a fierce, almost regal look in her eyes. Seconds before, she had just been a melancholy old woman whom Mike wouldn't have bet on would last half a second against a warrior like Raph; now, though no real physical change had taken place, she looked strong and steadfast, and Mike was almost sure that if Raph had been foolish enough to hit her with a sai now, the weapon would break in two.

Susan spoke again, and her voice had gained a core of solid steel. "I realize that you are worried about your brother, Raphael. Therefore, I will forgive you your lack of manners. But you will _not_ speak like that in my presence again! Old and worn I may be, but I am still Queen Susan of Narnia!"

Uncharacteristically but quite understandably, Raph backed away. _Armies_ would have backed away, Mike thought, half-impressed and half-scared. Instinctively, he grabbed Klunk and held the cat close to protect him.

Susan turned her gaze to the picture on the table. "I," she said, "am Queen Susan of the Horn, ruler of Narnia under my brother, the High King Peter, and under Aslan, the great Lion! And in the name of Aslan, I request the gate to be opened!"

For a couple of moments, nothing happened. Then, to Mike's surprise, the picture came to life, the tiny doors on the wardrobe slowly parting and swinging aside, a blinding white light streaming out from inside the wardrobe and filling the apartment.

"Hey, not bad..." was all Mike had time to say before the light filled his vision entirely, and he felt something -- or someone -- pulling him up from the chair and through the air. He held tightly onto Klunk as everything else seemed to vanish.

**

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**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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**Author's Notes:** In case anyone's wondering, I got Susan's and the other Pevensies' ages from the "Narnian timeline" written by C. S. Lewis, which was never actually referenced in any of the Narnian books but is accepted as canonical by most "Lewis scholars." According to this timeline, Susan was born in 1928, and the first trip to Narnia was in 1940, making her twelve years old at the time (Peter is thirteen, Edmund ten and Lucy eight). She was thirteen during her second and last visit to Narnia, and twenty-one during the events of _The Last Battle_, which according to the timeline happened in 1949.

It's an interesting challenge, writing Aslan. In the books, he's an unmistakable Christ figure, but I've toned this part of him down just a bit, presenting him more as a more neutrally god-like "king of a realm." There are several reasons for this: but the most important one is because the symbolism of the books get a bit too heavy-handed for me at times (particularly in _The Last Battle_) and I didn't want what is basically a fairly straightforward, none-too-complicated crossover between two canons I enjoy to be bogged down with a lot of heavy-handed religious symbolism.

On the other hand, you can't completely ignore the Christian overtones to the character either, because they are part of what makes him who he is -- and completely going away from them would be to seriously misrepresent the character. So I'm walking a pretty thin borderline here, trying to make him as... _Aslan_ as I can without at the same time blatantly presenting him as Jesus.

Whether I've managed or not, I'll leave up to you to decide -- but one thing was clear to me from the very start, and that was that I couldn't write a TMNT/Narnia crossover and not include Aslan. So even though he's not a major character here, he'll definitely continue to be around, whether it's in flashbacks like here, or in the story itself.

Next chapter, we'll see Leo meet King Rilian (and his friend Puddleglum!), and we'll also find out more about the mysterious Red Lady.


	6. The Royal Banquet

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

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**CHAPTER FIVE:  
The Royal Banquet**

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"Well," said King Rilian after having heard Leonardo's story. "It appears that I owe the two of you a great deal."

Moorwin made another of her clumsy bows. "We did nothing more than what was the duty of all right-thinking Narnians, Your Majesty."

To Leo's great relief, he and Moorwin had been granted an audience almost immediately after reaching the castle. The two knights that had arrived a little too late to help out with the werewolves had escorted both Turtle and Centaur to Cair Paravel, and Leo hadn't been too surprised to find that they knew Moorwin well; her family having been closely tied to the Royals of Narnia for several decades.

King Rilian turned out to be a fair-haired man, probably in his thirties, with an open, honest face and, thankfully, far less stuffy and formal than Leo had expected a king of a fantasy land to be. He had welcomed them warmly and listened to their story with interest as they told it, as had the assorted people gathered in the throne room -- only a rough third of which were humans, the rest being made up of Talking Animals, Dwarfs, Fauns, Centaurs and a few other creatures Leo had never seen anything like before. A Ninja Turtle didn't stick out in a crowd in any way here.

"I must admit," said the King thoughtfully, "that I have never heard of this Red Lady."

"Begging your pardon, Sire," said one of the stranger creatures present -- the one who stood the closest to the king's throne, looked like a peculiar mix of human and frog, with much-too-long limbs and dreadlock-like hair, and had been introduced by the king as_ 'Puddleglum, one of my most trusted advisors.' _"but we both once knew a Lady in Green."

At this, a whispering and muttering rose in the crowd, and the King nodded, looking at Puddleglum with a grim expression. "This is true," he said. "And I curse the day I met her."

"If this Red Lady is of the same sort," Puddleglum went on, "and I don't doubt for a moment that she is, then it spells dark tidings ahead, for us and for all of Narnia, especially if she seeks revenge for her kinswoman, which is almost certainly what she does, I shouldn't wonder. And she apparently commands Werewolves as well, which means even more trouble, especially since she has the power to make them invisible, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if she was around making other creatures invisible as well. She sounds the type. If Glenstormer saw trouble written in the stars, then mark my words, there will be trouble."

"Easy, Puddleglum," said the King, holding up a hand and very clearly repressing a smile. "Things are rarely as black as you like to paint them. However, you are right. Only a fool ignores the warnings of a Centaur -- and bigger still the fool who ignores the words of Glenstormer. I've yet to hear of him being wrong about such things."

Moorwin bowed again. "In that case," she said, for some reason with just a trace of shyness in her voice, "I hope I can serve your Majesty half as well as my Grandfather has served you, and your father before you."

This time, King Rilian didn't repress his smile. "Lady Moorwin," he said. "With subjects like you and your esteemed Grandfather, any King could meet dark times with a light heart. Like my father before me, I will face whatever lies in front of me without fear or hesitation, knowing that I have the support of such valiant Narnians."

"That's the right attitude, Sire," said Puddleglum. "Keep a brave face in all things, that's what I always say. Even though we're all very likely to get horribly killed by Werewolves and other nasty things before long, we mustn't let it get us down."

It would be inaccurate to say that this cheerful little speech was what made Leonardo's mind up completely -- in truth, his mind had been made up ever since he first drew his swords to fight the werewolves. Still, you could hardly ask for a better set-up.

He knelt before the King, drawing both his swords to place them at the monarch's feet. "In that case," he said in the formal voice he used for solemn occasions, "I offer to you my swords and my skills, such as they are, for as long as it takes to deal with the threat of this Red Lady. If you take my offer, your Majesty, I'll swear upon my honor to do all I can to aid you against this enemy until she is dead, defeated, or otherwise rendered harmless."

King Rilian's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "Rise, Master Leonardo. It would be a great honor and priveliege to have someone on my side who could single-handedly face down three Werewolves at the same time, and walk away alive and unharmed. And what do you ask in return?"

Leonardo picked up his swords and sheathed them again, raising himself to look up on the King again. "Help to find back to my own world and my family," he said. "Don't misunderstand me, your Majesty: I have no doubt that Narnia is a good country, but I'm a stranger here. I have a father and three brothers who need me, back in my own world."

"Then by the Lion's mane," said the King, "I accept your services and swear that in return, I'll do everything in my power to get you safely back to your own world." Then, he smiled again and became much less formal. "But before that time, I invite the both of you to be the guests of honor at the royal banquet tonight! Sit with me and Puddleglum here, and we shall talk more!" He cast a glance at Moorwin. "And I'm sure the horses and other centaurs won't mind if you join them for some oats and grass afterwards."

For a moment, Leo thought this had to be a joke about the Centaur's "half-horse" status, but then he remembered how he'd seen Moorwin take a mouthful of grass earlier that day, and decided that this had to be yet another of these Narnian things -- especially since nobody laughed and Moorwin didn't appear amused or insulted.

(Later, Leo found out that all Narnian Centaurs, having both the stomach of a human _and_ of a horse, always eat double meals whenever they can: One "human" meal, consisting of normal, human food -- and one "horse" meal, consisting of oats, grass and other things that horses like to eat.)

"I would be delighted, your Majesty," was all Moorwin said.

"Good," said king Rilian with a big smile. "Perhaps you would care to freshen up a little first, though." He waved a hand, looking over at the crowd, who were still following the conversation with interest. "Masters Durbin and Brinkle, if you would please show our honored guests to where they can wash and perhaps get a change of clothes while they're at it?"

Two elegantly-dressed Dwarfs stepped forward and bowed, before motioning to Leo and Moorwin to follow them.

* * *

The royal banquet was spectacular -- easily one of the most impressive meals Leo had even been at. There were all kinds of food; fowl and fish and game of every sorts, pies, ice puddings and fruit, not to mention drinks and beverages of every kind.

Even in the spectacularity and grandness of it all, it didn't feel overly formal. There was music and laughter and merriment, in which the King himself took an active part, and every so often, someone would cheerfully propose a toast to someone or something. Glasses were raised for Aslan, for the health of the king, for Leonardo and Moorwin, for Narnia, for piece and prosperity, for the King's excellent wine (this last one was proposed by a Faun, who looked like he'd had a bit too much of said excellent wine even before the meal started).

For the occasion, Leo had elected to not wear his mask or belt at the table; instead wearing a gold-embroidered black vest that Durbin the dwarf had eagerly picked out for him, and that fit surprisingly well over his shell. He felt almost overdressed in it, but had reasoned that he had to wear _something_ if he was going to sit at a king's table. Thankfully, he'd gotten his hot bath, and was relieved to find that his body felt a lot less sore than he'd thought it would after that long ride.

Even Moorwin had dressed up slightly, with some kind of fancy-looking green tunic, and her hair had been meticulously washed and braided. Since sitting on a chair would have been an impossibility for a Centaur, she was simply lying on her horse stomach next to the table, which made her human torso the exact right height for the table.

King Rilian was a most gracious host, and listened to Leo's story with great interest.

"I have always been fond of stories of other worlds," he said. "My father, Caspian the Seafarer, often told me of one world in particular, namely the one the High King Peter and his royal siblings hailed from. He often spoke of all the times during the long sea voyage with King Edmund and Queen Lucy, and how they would tell him of their own world. He said that theirs was a _round_ world, like a globe -- and that people could walk quite easily on its surface without ever falling off, not even when they travelled to the places where they walked upside-down! It's a wonder to me how they manage!"

Leo blinked. Then he remembered that Narnia was a medieval society, and probably hadn't gotten very far in astronomy yet. "Well," he said slowly, "if my brother Donatello had been here, he would probably have been more than happy to explain it to you. I think it's about the force of gravity and how a globe spins fast enough --"

"Oh, Aslan help them," muttered Puddleglum, who was sitting right by the king and was the only one who didn't seem the least bit cheerful. "If it spins, they'll be thrown right off, I shouldn't wonder, and what then? I always did say we would never see Scrubb or Pole again after they left for their own world, and no wonder, too, because if they haven't been run over by one of those horseless carriages they told me about, or drowned, or killed in a horrible war, they're likely to have been thrown off the world and floated into space."

Leo had already been told, discreetly, by Durbin the Dwarf, that Puddleglum was a Marsh-wiggle, and as such he would always take the blackest possible view on everything. ("But you'll never find a truer soul among Narnians," the dwarf had hastened to add. "They say he saved the King's life once, and the King is always glad of his company. But if you haven't met a Marsh-wiggle before, it's better to be forewarned.") Now that he knew what a Marsh-wiggle was, the Turtle wasn't quite sure whether he should be insulted that Portly had compared him to one or not, because Puddleglum did not only look extremely odd, but was also so gloomy and constantly harping on about dreadful things that might happen that it was a wonder there was anyone left in the castle that hadn't gone crazy. But nobody, strangely enough, seemed to mind him in the slightest.

"You say your brother knows about such things," said King Rilian. "Does this mean that you hail from one of those round worlds as well? That _is_ interesting. You'll have to tell me more about... I wonder," he suddenly interrupted himself, "if it could possibly be the same one that's home to our friends, Eustace Scrubb and Jill pole -- and the High King Peter himself? As well as my own ancestors, the Telmarines? You would not, by any chance, have heard of these people before?"

"I can't say I have, your majesty," said Leo. "But it's a large world, so I suppose it _could_ be the same."

"It would make sense, since that is the world where most our, shall we say, otherworldly visitors have come from." King Rilian stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But if it is, I must say that I had no idea that creatures such as you even existed there. Certainly my friends, of my father's friends, never gave any impression that their world were home to any race but the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve."

"They probably wouldn't," said Leo, wondering for a brief moment just where these Narnians' obsession with Adam and Eve came from. "My people... well, my family... we live in hiding, mostly. There aren't many who know that we exist."

"Like the old Narnians back in the days of Miraz the Usurper?" said Moorwin, nodding in understanding.

"Kind of, I guess," Leo agreed. (Although from the stories Portly had told him, the old Narnians probably didn't live in sewers.)

"Begging your pardon" said Puddleglum, "but I journeyed together with the two children for many a week, and they told me many things about their world and how it was. I shan't say I could be of much help, having probably forgotten most of the important details in the ten years that have passed since I heard the stories, and what I do remember I've probably misunderstood, or got all wrong, but that's no reason not to try and see if I can't be of enough help to determine whether it was the same world. We mustn't give up before we've tried, at least, there'll be plenty of time for that later, when it's all turned out to be hopeless."

"Right," said Leo, not sure how to react to this. "If you're willing, I'll be glad for anything you can help me with, uh, mister Puddleglum."

"Well, I don't know about _help_," said Puddleglum. "I don't know if what I remember from my old friends' stories will be of any help at all, and even if we do find out it's the same world, that doesn't mean we've found a way to get you back there. But we might as well give it a go. It can't do any harm, or at least it can't do any _more_ harm than _not_ doing it."

Moorwin snorted and tried to look serious and dignified, but didn't quite manage to hide the look of mirth and repressed laughter. To compensate, she took a big gulp of wine from her goblet and spent the next half-minute or so coughing while Puddleglum helpfully pounded her .

King Rilian politely waited until the coughing fit was over before continuing. "It's true... we don't know any more about how to get to_ that _world than we do about how to get to any others. It was always people from there who came to Narnia, never the other way around. Still, better the world you know than the world you don't. And if the Lion is with us all, we shall find a way."

"I propose we drink to that," said Moorwin, raising her goblet.

"Yes, let us drink to that!" King Rilian eagerly announced, raising his own goblet and standing up. "My friends," he called out over the hall, causing everyone to stop talking and turn to him. "Let us all raise our glasses to the Lion -- may he aid us in helping those who have lost their way home!"

"To the Lion!" the crowd roared, everybody raising themselves and lifting their glasses.

"And to the health of the King!" Moorwin called, lifting her glass higher than everyone else.

"We already drank to that!" someone shouted from across the room.

"Let's drink to it again! That way he'll be extra healthy!" another suggested, to general laughter.

Leo joined in on what ended up as three toasts after one another -- one for the Lion, one for the health of the King, and then, just to make sure, _another_ for the health of the King. He made sure to take small sips; the wine they had given him was good, but he generally didn't like drinking too much alcohol.

"Your subjects are certainly enthusiastic about your health, your Majesty," he said after everyone had sat down again and the chatter started up again.

"Well, I am the only King they have," king Rilian answered. "Save the Great Lion, of course."

"Yes, and we have to take very good care of him," said Puddleglum solemnly. "We almost lost him once, you know, and we aren't all that eager to lose him again! Not to mention, he still hasn't married, and he has no close relatives, so if something happens to him, Narnia will be without a King -- and then there'll be wars and power struggles and probably black magic too, I shouldn't wonder, and..."

"I know, Puddleglum," said the King. "You all keep telling me that I need to find a wife. I will, it's just that... I think I've just gone slightly off the idea of marrying after that entire affair with the Lady in the Green Kirtle. But don't worry, my friend -- I've already made it a Royal decree that if I haven't met someone before my thirty-fifth birthday, I will make arrangements to find a Queen. Narnia shall not be without a ruler."

"We shall all hope that you survive for so long, then," Puddleglum muttered. "Though I shouldn't wonder if there was a famine or a plague long before that time, and the entire country fell into ruin and poverty, or that Red Lady showed up and turned you into something beastly, but that's no reason to give up hope, of course."

King Rilian just smiled again and drank some more wine, but Leo's thoughts turned back to this Red Lady. There really wasn't a lot they knew about her, but that she wasn't friendly seemed to be a given. Of course, there could be, and probably were, factors that he didn't know about --things that might complicate the situation. Was the Red Lady a Witch, like Puddleglum thought, or was she something else? Or maybe, he pondered, she didn't even really exist, and the "Red Lady" was just some kind of code name for an organization or society?

But he would get to the bottom of this mystery, he decided. Even if he _hadn't_ had that suspicious feeling that he had somehow been brought to Narnia in order to aid the King... well, the wisest choice of action would still be to help the King, really. By swearing to aid King Rilian against this potential threat, Leo had effectively made allies out of most of the country of Narnia, and somewhere out there, there had to be _someone_ who knew how to get him back home.

Besides; now he had a task, a goal to work towards. If he was going to be stuck in this world for some time, it would help to have something to _do._ Researching a mystery about a possible villain sounded right up his alley, even if it was in surroundings very different to the ones he were used to -- but that just made it more of a challenge, really.

He'd manage somehow, he'd find the Red Lady, and he'd find his way back to his own world and his family. Already, he felt that tiny hint of a thrill that always came to him whenever he had some big task to conquer.

* * *

Miles away, and at approximately the same time, two men with a certain, savage wolf-like appearance -- one bigger and fiercer-looking than the other, and quite obviously pushing his smaller and somewhat unwilling comrade along -- made their way into a throne room far away from Cair Paravel.

The rugged wild appearance of the two Werewolves could not have contrasted more with the elegant, grandiose beauty of the throne room. It wasn't a big as the throne room in Cair Paravel, but just as impressive -- though for slightly different reasons. The room itself looked like it had been shaped out of gold and silver; and jewels and gems of all colors, shapes and sizes decorated the walls, ceiling and the few, select pieces of furniture. Huge mirrors hung on all four walls, reflecting the shining and glittering of the precious metals and thousands of gems.

In the exact center of this room stood an elegant silver throne, upon which sat a woman clad all in red, a form-fitting dress with all sorts of jewels adorned to it, and a necklace with a ruby the size of a small apple hung around her neck. She was -- there's no other way to put it -- almost impossibly beautiful, but in an unearthly way, as if she couldn't be quite human.

As the two Werewolves approached her throne, she looked up from the handheld mirror she had been busy admiring herself in, and said, in an almost bored tone of voice: "Oh. You're back. Earlier than I expected, too."

"M'Lady." Both Werewolves bowed, the smaller one wincing as he did so, as if he was still sore from a thorough beating.

"Well?" The Lady put the mirror down and straightened herself. "Was the mission carried out?"

The larger of the two Werewolves shoved his smaller companion hard. "Tell her," he snarled.

"Tell me what?" said the Lady, suddenly suspicious. "Don't tell me that what you're going to tell me is that you failed in your mission?" She raised herself from her throne, her eyes narrowing in anger. "Don't tell me that _that_ is what you're going to tell me?!"

"M'Lady," the smaller Werewolf repeated, unable to hide his nervousness. "I'm afraid that we did fail in our mission. We never reached Cair Paravel."

The Lady slumped. "Oh, why did you have to tell me that?" Her voice was suddenly dangerously close to a whine. "Now I have no other choice than to hurt you." She grabbed the ruby on her necklace and held it out as much as the thin gold chain would allow, clenching her fist.

At once, the Werewolf gave a gasp of pain and sank down to the floor, twitching uncontrollably.

"Oh, do stop being so _dramatic,"_ said the Lady, squeezing the ruby tighter and watching the werewolf twitch and gasp with the pain. "Tell me _why_ you failed."

"We were -- seen," the werewolf managed to gasp. "Too close to -- Cair Paravel. Could not --- risk -- _aaaagh!"_

"Who saw you? How? My spell was supposed to make you invisible!"

"Don't -- know! Green -- creature! Warrior! Looked like -- turtle!"

The Lady paused for a while, then let go of the ruby, which swung back to finally come to rest on her breast. The Werewolf went limp and collapsed, ending up on the floor and panting heavily, occasionally twitching as aftershocks of the pain soared through his body.

She paid him no more heed. "What is this nonsense?" she demanded, turning to the larger Werewolf, who had been standing passively and watching all the time. _"Green creature, warrior, looked like turtle? _What's that supposed to mean?"

"To be perfectly frank, M'Lady, I'm not sure what it all means," said the larger Werewolf calmly. "I only know that as we had Cair Paravel in sight, we were stopped by this strange-looking green creature. It looked vaguely like a turtle, but stood on two legs like a man, and carried two swords. It was riding on a Centaur."

"Riding a _Centaur?"_

"And apparently able to see through your spell, M'Lady. It called us out and told us it knew we were there. Soon after, the Centaur was able to see us as well, so we knew your spell had to be broken somehow. Since we could not get to Cair Paravel undetected without your spell --"

"No, that's impossible, my spell cannot be broken," said the Lady, and then sighed. "And so on, and so on, let's pretend I've already said all that usual rot about how great my powers are. What else happened? What happened to the green creature?"

"Well, it killed two of us," said the larger Werewolf. "And wounded one. _Him,_ as a matter of fact." He pointed at his comrade, who was still lying motionless on the floor.

"I see." The Lady took a deep breath and let it out again. "Isn't that always the way? Your honor demands something of you, so you make plans, you think of some way to get to the King of Narnia, and then something completely unexpected happens that ruins everything, and all of a sudden you're disgraced. What an _awful_ bore."

"Does this mean we are abandoning the plan, M'Lady?" said the Werewolf, looking surprised.

"No, of course not," said the Lady, an annoyed tone in her voice. "We'll just have to change it. But now we're going to have to find out what this creature is and how it could see through my spell and how to deal with it." She sighed. "Most likely it's some big and powerful wizard or something. How I hate big and powerful wizards."

"It could be an agent of... you know... _Him."_ said the Werewolf carefully.

_"Aslan_, you mean," the Lady snapped, angry again. "Say the word! I will not have a Captain of the Werewolf Force who's too much of a coward to speak the name of the enemy! I was there when Jadis, the White Witch, bound and killed that wretched Lion on the Stone Table! The fact that he came back to life afterwards and defeated our entire army so that only a few of us survived by fleeing in terror has absolutely nothing to do with it. As long as you work for _me, _you do not hesitate to speak the accursed name!"

"Aslan, then," the Werewolf growled.

"And don't growl. You'll ruin your voice." The Lady sat down on her throne again, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Aslan or no Aslan, we'll just have to find some way to kill the stupid green creature in order to get to the stupid King so I can pull off my plan." She grabbed the mirror and gazed into it, immediately cheering up at the sight of her own beautiful face.

After a while, she glanced at the Werewolf, who was still standing there. "You're dismissed, by the way," she said casually. Then, as the Werewolf bowed and hurried out of the throne room, the woman's eyes turned to the one who was still lying on the floor, still unable to do anything but breathe and occasionally twitch.

"You do realize how silly you look lying there, don't you?" was all she said before returning to her reflection.

**

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**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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**Author's notes:** More canon Narnia characters in this chapter! I couldn't write a Narnia story set it in the time of King Rilian and _not_ include my all-time favorite Narnian character, Puddleglum, in at least a minor role, now could I?! Like Portly, Puddleglum proved to be a _little_ too much fun to write dialogue for, and I ended up having to put him on a short leash, or else the entire chapter might have ended up as nothing but Puddleglum bugging the hell out of Leo with his pessimistic optimism, or optimistic pessimism, whatever you wish to call it.

This chapter, of course, also contains our first glimpse of the Red Lady. Now, the Red Lady is a bit of an experiment on my behalf -- most villains in the Narnia books have been pretty serious characters, and I wanted to see if I could make a character that could come across as a credible threat even if she had a comical edge to her. Whether I've succeeded or not must be up to you to decide, but I will admit that I do like the red Lady... so expect to see much more of her in later chapters. As is hinted in her scene here, she's been around for a long time and shouldn't be underestimated.

In the next chapter, the rest of the Turtles, along with April, Splinter and Susan, find themselves whisked away from their own world... but is it really Narnia they've ended up in?!


	7. The Box of Doom

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

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* * *

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**CHAPTER SIX:  
The Box of Doom**

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April O'Neil was no stranger to the odd and unusual. Ever since that fateful day when her life had first been saved by a group of mutant Turtles trained in the art of Ninjutsu, said life had been more or less one long string of odd and unusual events.

Mutated animals. Aliens. Superheroes. Time-travelling. Parallel dimensions. Horrible monsters. And, of course, Casey Jones (who, being human, should logically have been less odd than all those other things but somehow managed to be twice as odd).

Occasionally, she wished that it would all be a little simpler and more, well, normal... but those occasions were rare. Most of the time, she counted herself as lucky and privileged to be a member of the close-knit family that was the "Turtle clan," and if not having a normal life was the price she had to pay for that, she'd pay it gladly.

Even so, when the photograph of the old wardrobe suddenly opened its doors and that bright white light filled her vision, April knew at once that her life was about to enter a whole new dimension of odd.

Blinded by the bright light, she felt the world around her slip away, and for a moment she had the strangest sensation of falling through and endless nothing, before she suddenly realized that she was lying on her stomach on a cold, hard surface, and something heavy was lying on top of her.

As her vision returned, she found herself on a marble floor, and on the bottom of a pile consisting of herself and what seemed a multitude of Ninja Turtle arms, legs and shells.

"Ooof," she managed to say. "Get off me!"

"Sorry, April," came the muffled voice of Donatello.

The weight on her lessened considerably as the pile sorted itself out and got up off her. Breathing easier, April took Don's offered hand and, despite feeling very dizzy and confused, managed to get to her feet and get her first glimpse at her surroundings.

And gasped in wonder.

The room they were in could have been taken straight out of _Arabian Nights,_ particularly one of those versions that goes on and on about the exquisite and grand beauty of the Sultan's Palace. It wasn't particularly large, but the floor and walls were shining white marble, the ceiling seemed to be gold studded with all kinds of jewels, and on every single wall hung colorful tapestries with intricate and beautiful patterns. Three of the walls also sported elegantly arched doorways, leading out to other rooms that from the small glimpse they got of them were just as elegant and richly decorated. There were no visible windows, or lamps, or any other probable light sources, yet the room was somehow brightly lit.

"Man," said Raphael. "Looks like that crazy ol' woman knew what she was doin' after all! She actually sent us to another place, through a doorway on a picture! Anyone got any idea where the heck we are?"

"Or where Mike and Klunk and Mrs. Palmer are?" Don added, letting go of April's hand.

It was then April first realized that the only ones there were Raph, Don, Splinter and herself. Mike and Klunk were nowhere to be seen, nor was the old woman, Susan Palmer. "What happened to them?" she managed to say. "What happened to _us?"_

Splinter seemed to have come fully to his senses again. He held up a hand for silence and said, in a low voice: "I do not know why Michelangelo, Klunk or Mrs. Palmer are not with us, but it might have something to do with Mrs. Palmer's claims that she was never to return to Narnia."

"You think this is Narnia?" said April.

"I may be wrong," said Splinter. "but it seems the most likely. Our purpose was to go to Narnia and seek out Leonardo, after all, and it seems like we have graciously been offered a way in. I pray that Michelangelo will be all right, though," he added, a trace of worry in his voice.

"Yeah, as if it weren't enough ta worry about _one_ missing brother," Raph muttered. "Now we gotta worry about _two._"

"With any luck, Michelangelo is still back in New York," said Splinter.

"Well --" Don began, but before he got any further, he stiffened and looked towards one of the arched doorways.

In the sudden silence, April could hear footsteps rapidly approaching from outside the room.

She barely had time to register anything else, because by now Don had grabbed hold of her and hauled her in through another of the doors, while Raph and Splinter vanished in through the door on the opposite wall.

They'd only just ducked out of sight when the footsteps came to a halt, and a voice sounded: "I was certain I heard someone talking in here."

"Perhaps you were mistaken," said another voice. "Or perhaps it was a pair of slaves."

Don and April pressed themselves against the walls on each side of the door to lessen the chances of being seen from outside, and Don looked at April while pressing a finger to his beak. April nodded to show that she understood -- they were in a strange place and had no way of knowing whether the owners of the voices were friendly or hostile, or what they might say to finding strangers, and Mutant Turtle strangers at that, in what might even be their home.

"Slaves in the Forbidden Wing, without being accompanied by a guard or by the Tisroc himself -- may he live forever?" the first voice said, sounding both angry and afraid. "If any impudent slaves or intruders have dared enter these rooms... Hopefully they have not found the Box!"

Don and April exchanged hurried looks. These people definitely didn't sound like they'd be friendly if they found them here. Don clutched his bo staff and April tensed up, ready to either fight or run, whatever came first.

But all of a sudden, Raphael's voice sounded: "Lookin' for me, boys?"

There were a couple of startled yells, the sounds of a very brief struggle, and then -- silence.

After a few seconds, the voice of Raph sounded again: "Feh. Amateurs. Even a low-rankin' Foot Soldier woulda put up more of a fight than that."

April decided to risk a peek, and was greeted by the not-unexpected sight of Raphael standing over the unconscious bodies of two men. They were dark-skinned and dressed in rather elaborate-looking uniforms, and a pair of scimitars were lying on the floor right next to them.

Splinter emerged from the door, looking grave. "I am afraid that did not buy us very much time. Someone else is bound to come by before long."

"And judging from these two bozos, they won't be happy ta see us," Raph added.

"Very likely not," Splinter agreed. "With that in mind, let's make good use of the little time we have and get out of here and find an exit as quickly as possible."

For the first time, April turned to look at the room she and Don had hid in. It was smaller than the first one, and though made of the same marble and gold didn't contain the same tapestries and decorations. But the one thing that grabbed her interest was the small, one-legged table in the middle of the room -- or, to be more precise, the box that was resting on top of it.

It was a small, wooden box with a hinged lid, covered in beautiful and intricate pattern carvings. It looked completely oridinary -- pretty, for sure, but compared to the tapestries and decorations in the other room it wasn't much -- which was why April hesitated. Why would anyone who owned a building as richly-decorated as this keep such a plain-looking box in a room all to itself?

She lingered at the thought for a moment or two, but then decided it wasn't worth pursuing and instead turned around. "No exits in this room, Splinter! Just a table with a box of some sort."

"There is no exit in the room Raphael and I were in either," Splinter answered, turning to Raph. "Raphael, see if you can find a way out of this building, but be careful that you are not seen."

"Gotcha, sensei!" Raph vanished out the door where the two guards had entered.

Splinter carefully stepped over the two unconscious guards, and walked up to April and Don. "Be ready to move out as soon as Raphael returns," he said. "We need to get somewhere safe to regroup and consider our strategy."

"Let's just hope there's a safe place we can get to," April muttered. "We know nothing about this place, not even what's outside these rooms."

"Well," said Don somewhat smugly. "I wouldn't say that. Let's use the Sherlock Holmes method and look at what clues these three rooms can give us. Of course, if we're in a different world, it might be a little harder to know what's valid and what isn't... but if this room, and the clothes of these two guards, is any indication of what the rest of this place is like, then I wouldn't be surprised to see flying carpets and stuff like that outside."

"So you noticed that too?" said April.

Don nodded. "Still... the way Mrs. Palmer described Narnia, it sounded more like a pseudo-medieval European society. So either we're not in Narnia, or whoever owns this place is just not following the local style."

"Didn't those two guards say something about someone called... what was it again... Tisroc?" said April. "Ever heard of that?"

Don seemed to think this over for a couple of seconds, but then he shook his head. "Can't say I have," he said. "At least Mrs. Palmer never mentioned anyone called that. Master Splinter?"

"I am just as much in the dark on this as you are, my son."

"Well," said Don thoughtfully. "Let's get back to that one. Given the way those two guards talked about a Forbidden Wing and a box, and given that the only box I can see here is _that_ one," he pointed at the box April had been looking at, "it seems we've stumbled upon the keep of something out of the oridinary. Why would such a plain wooden box like that be kept by itself in any place named 'forbidden,' much less in a place that looks this rich?"

"Maybe it contains something... extremely precious," April suggested.

"Or something extremely _dangerous,"_ said Don. "I heard the fear in that guard's voice when he mentioned the box. Besides, if it was precious, why hide it in such a plain-looking box?"

"To fool thieves?"

"Why? No thief who managed to sneak into a forbidden place would pass by even a plain-looking box, especially if it was the only thing around small enough to carry. No," said Don, "I think we've somehow managed to stumble upon the keeping place of something extremely dangerous, belonging to someone very rich. Which means we should probably get ready to fight a lot of guards. We can hope that they're not used to warriors, though, given how easily Raph dealt with these two. I'd say we can probably fight our way out. Elementary, my dear April."

"But..." April turned to look at the box. "How dangerous could whatever's in this box be? It's so small."

"So's a hand grenade, but that doesn't make it any less lethal."

"Let us focus on our escape, rather than what may or may not be inside this box," said Splinter. "Your logic makes sense, Donatello, but without having seen more of this place for ourselves, we cannot know anything for certain. Now --" He suddenly stiffened for a fraction of a second and turned his head sharply towards the door Raphael had ran out. "Wait! I can hear Raphael yelling!"

"He must have been discovered!" said Don.

"April," said Splinter hurriedly. "Take one of the scimitars," he pointed to the weapons still lying on the floor, "and try to make yourself acquainted with it. If we are not back in five minutes, get out of here any way you can!"

With that, and before April could answer, both Don and Splinter had vanished out the door to come to Raph's aid.

* * *

Not five minutes earlier, Raphael was racing down the marble-covered, tapestry-decorated corridor, silent as a shadow, and he couldn't help but feel his spirits lift as he ran. Finally, he was _doing_ something, not just sitting around and waiting or listening to stories. He didn't understand how the others could have the patience to sit through that Mrs. Palmer's sob stories while knowing that Leo was out there and probably in trouble. If Raph had been in charge, there would have been far less talk and far more action in situations like this.

He loved his family and would gladly die for any one of them, but _man,_ could they ever be frustrating at times.

The corridor ended, and Raph found himself in another corridor, running sideways from the one he'd been in, and for the first time since he'd found himself in this crazy marble building, there were windows, huge windows with the same kind of arched top as all the doorways, in a row along the wall -- and with real, actual sunlight streaming in through them.

There didn't seem to be any glass in any of these windows, so with some luck, this could make for an excellent emergency exit.

Taking a quick look around to ensure that there weren't anyone else in the corridor, he scooted up to the closest window to peek out of it.

The building he was in seemed to be on top of a hill or something, overlooking a mass of elaborately-shaped buildings; spires, battlements and balconies en masse, a number of what looked like minarets, and in between it all were zig-zag roads and huge flights of steps, all of which were bustling with crowds of people. The heat of the air stood against him, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of city life, mixed with the scent of oranges and lemons, from all the orange and lemon trees that seemed to grow everywhere there wasn't a street or a building.

_Okay,_ thought Raph, _when did I get to Agrabah?_

He was just about to lean out a little further and try to judge whether they would be safe climbing down this wall, when he heard noises from down the corridor.

_Damn!_ he thought, looking for a place to hide, only to discover that there weren't any -- at least not in the corridor. He had no time to run down the corridor he'd come up either, so that only left one alternative.

Two seconds later, he was hanging on the outside wall, clinging to the windowsill and hoping that he was less exposed out here than he felt.

_This might not'a been my best idea ever,_ he mused, glancing down and seeing that he was about thirty feet up in the air and directly above an exposed area that seemed to be a garden of some sort, where a huge amount of people -- all dark-skinned and elaborately dressed -- were gathered for what seemed to be a party of some sort. There were musicians and jugglers and drinking and dancing...

...and if even _one_ of them looked up right now, Raph was screwed.

He hadn't even finished thinking the thought before just that happened. A woman's voice came down from the crowd, speaking more or less the exact words he'd been dreading: "O great Tisroc -- may you live forever -- what is that green creature hanging outside that window up there?"

"Great," Raph muttered under his breath as all the people down in the garden stopped whatever they were doing and looked up, a collective gasp going through the crowd. "Brilliant. Thank you _so _much, fate. Let's not give Raph a break or anything."

"O foul creature!" a man shouted from below, and Raph could see that he was dressed in the same garments as the guards he had knocked down earlier. "What foul deeds brings you to the Palace of the Tisroc -- may he live forever? Speak, beast, and know that the palace guards of the Tisroc --may he live forever -- will slaughter you, should you attempt a deceitful answer!"

"Yeah, hello to you too!" said Raph, deciding to try the diplomatic course first. "I'm just a little lost. Any of you people know how I can get ta Narnia from here?"

There was another collective gasp from the crowd.

One of the people down there -- Raph guessed from the fact that he was even more elaborately dressed than everyone else, and the fact that everyone seemed to shut up immediately when he spoke, that he must be some kind of king or ruler -- raised himself and roared: "Narnia! Narnia! The accursed barbarians of the North! Foul sorcerers and demon-worshipers! Look, my people, look! Now they are sending their demons even to the city of Tashbaan -- even to my own palace to spy and to work their wicked magic! I command you to answer, foul demon! What wicked sorcerer do you obey?!"

_Okay, these people are wacko,_ Raph concluded._ No point in even tryin' ta reason with 'em._ He swung up on the windowsill, getting to his feet and standing in the window, looking down at the party. "I am the great and powerful demon Raphael!" he shouted. "And in the name of my Master Splinter, beware my wrath! But first -- Bye!"

With that, he jumped back inside and got ready to run back to Splinter and the others.

Only to find himself face-to-face with around ten guards blocking his way. _Oh. Right._

"Foul demon!" one of them cried. "You will never get to the deepest secrets of the Tisroc -- may he live forever! You three, run to the sacred chamber and secure the Box of Doom!" he called to three of the guards, who immediately ran down the corridor towards the room with Splinter and the others.

Raph took one look at them, and then -- since their cover was blown anyway -- raised his voice and called out, hoping that it would travel far enough down the corridor that Splinter's keen ears would hear: _"MASTER SPLINTER! THE GUARDS ARE COMING!"_

"Silence, filthy demon!" the leader of the guards commanded. "Attack him, men!"

Quick as lightning, Raph drew both his sais from his belt. "Yeah, men, attack him!" he agreed, grinning madly as the guards advanced on him.

He hadn't had a decent fight in _weeks._

* * *

The land of Calormen lies many miles to the southeast of Narnia, a vast desert separating the two countries, and though the far larger Calormen has never yet seriously tried to invade or go to war against the northern lands, the relationship between Narnia and Calormen has always been somewhat uneasy.

Narnians think of the Calormenes as a brutal people divided into oppressors and oppressed with absolutely no middle ground, and the strict Calormen class and caste system (not to mention the common use and ownership of slaves) is viewed with distaste. The Calormenes on their side view the Narnians as uncivilized, savage barbarians and sorcerers who consort with demons and use evil magic (which is exemplified by the large number of Talking Animals, Fauns, Dwarfs, Giants and other "inhuman" creatures up in the north).

Still, many rulers of Calormen -- _Tisrocs,_ as they're called, thought to be descended from the god Tash -- have been quite eager to one day claim Narnia and the northern lands as their own, and when they haven't done so yet, it's mainly for fear of the "foul sorcerers."

April O' Neil, of course, knew nothing of this, although it might have interested her greatly to know that while she was still pretty far away from the country she and the guys was searching for, and probably couldn't have ended up in a worse spot for so-called "Friends of Narnia," she was at least in the same _world._

_All right,_ she thought to herself as she picked up the scimitar from the floor and glanced at her watch. _Five minutes, and then I go after you. Got it, Splinter._

She swung the weapon testingly around a few times.

While she had been training under Splinter for some time now, and was getting to be quite skilled with the sword, the much shorter, curved blade of the scimitar felt strange and awkward to her. She had mainly practiced (and on occasion, fought) with straight-bladed weapons, and curved blades demand different techniques and strokes.

It wasn't exactly an ideal weapon for her, but it would have to do.

She glanced at her watch. _Three more minutes, and then I'm coming after the guys. _She moved over to the door, listening intently for the sounds of a fight or running footsteps. _Two and a half minute._ She wasn't sure, but she thought she could hear the sound of a fight somewhere in the distance... _Three min -- ack!_

She hadn't intended to think, or say, "Ack," it's just that this word is often the one that first one that pops into your head when someone sneaks up on you from behind, wraps a sudden arm around your chest, and places a scimitar to your throat.

"Barbarian woman," sneered the voice of the guard. "Drop your blade, or you shall lose your head!"

"Ack," said April, almost involuntarily dropping her weapon and inwardly cursing herself for being distracted by the sounds of the fight instead of checking whether both guards were still unconscious.

"Why are you here, wench, and where is that green creature?" the guard demanded.

April tried to swallow, but found that she couldn't manage. _Don't panic, _she thought. _You've been in worse situations than this._ "I'll tell you if you remove that scimitar from my throat," she said.

"You will tell me now!" said the guard. "I see from your skin color that you are one of the accursed barbarians from the North. Have you come here to steal the Box of Doom and bring wicked sorcery down upon us?"

"If I say no, will you let me go?" said April.

The guard laughed, an unpleasant and short laugh. "No."

"All right," said April. "Then I won't feel bad for doing -- _this!"_ And with that, she pulled back from the scimitar as far as she could, at the same time moving her elbow back sharply and hitting the man in the stomach.

Now, if Calormen palace guards had been equipped with proper armor, this move would have been quite useless. But as luck would have it, the Tisroc saw no point in equipping the palace guard with armor, given that no-one in Calormen (for the Calormenes are, on the whole, a law-abiding and Tisroc-fearing people) would ever dare enter the palace uninvited. So actual armor was reserved for the City Watch and the soldiers in the army, whose jobs were more dangerous, while palace guards were provided with fancier cloth uniforms that mirrored their higher rank.

So the guard had no metal breastplate to protect him against April's sudden elbow attack. Neither did he have the necessary protection for her next move, as she took advantage of his being momentary stunned, wrestled free from his grip and kicked him in the groin.

He gasped and sank to his knees, the scimitar falling uselessly to the floor.

April didn't miss a beat. She knew she had to get out of the room and eventually the palace as well, but that there was likely to be more guards out there and that she couldn't be sure to meet up with Splinter and the guys before she met the guards. A scimitar would help her, true, but if Don had been right, there might be something in this room that would help her _more._

She rushed into the smaller room, and grabbed the wooden box from the table.

The guard, struggling to get to his feet, gave out a yell of fear. "Not the Box of Doom!"

"That's right," April panted, holding the box to her chest and tensing. "The Box of Doom. Tell me, what should I do with it? Should I open it?!"

"Even a barbarian cannot be that mad!" There was genuine terror on the guard's face. "If that box is opened, the sky will fall on us all!"

_Yeah, right,_ April thought. "You'd be amazed at how mad a barbarian can be," she said out loud. "Now you and I are going to take a trip around this palace, and you're going to help me find my friends, and you're going to warn everyone that we see that the mad barbarian woman has the Box of Doom and won't hesitate to open it if anyone so much as_ thinks _of doing something she doesn't like. Is that clear?"

"The Tisroc -- may he live forever -- will have my head for this! Have pity with a poor man who only does his job and has five sons to feed..."

"Well, it's your choice. What'll it be? Do as I say -- or get crushed by the falling sky?!" April made a motion as if to open the box.

"No!" the guard screamed. "Very well, thrice-damned barbarian! I will do as you say!"

"Then march!" April commanded. She took a quick glance to the side to check if the other guard had stirred yet, but he still lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and didn't look like he was going to wake up for a while. So she picked up the scimitar from the floor, in case she met someone who wasn't afraid of a box; and then, with her newfound prisoner, she marched out of the room and down the marble corridor, towards the sounds of the fight.

* * *

Fighting against these guards, Raphael decided, was not unlike fighting your average street punks -- if the street punks had been slightly better organized and didn't have any guns. Just swap the cries of "freak" and "alien" for "demon" and "foul sorcerer," and the dialogue was remarkably similar as well.

His sais flashed like lightning; he spun around, jumped and kicked where he could, feeling his spirits rise even further. There seemed to be no end to the guards, more of them arriving from both ends of the corridor, but luckily for him, just as had it looked like there would be too many of them for him to comfortably deal with, Splinter and Donny had arrived and joined into the fray.

"Isn't this just like you, Raph?" said Don, sending two guards flying with a great swing of his bo. "We leave you alone for five minutes, and you end up in a fight with half the populace!"

"Sorry, I tried ta negotiate," Raph answered, slamming the heavy hilt of one of his sais onto the head of one guard, who immediately lapsed into unconsciousness, "but they thought my demands were too unreasonable!"

"Die, foul demon!" a guard shouted, lounging at Raphael with a scimitar, only to be flipped over by Splinter and landing heavily on his back. Raph took the opportunity to push another guard over him and use both fallen guards as a sort of springboard, somersaulting over the heads of two other guards and sending them tumbling to the ground with another flash of his sais.

This move brought him to the very edge of the melee, which was why he was the first to see April come marching up the corridor, following a terrified-looking guard (whom Raph vaguely recognized as one of the two he'd knocked out just ten minutes or so ago).

"April, stay back!" he warned, but it was too late. One of the guards sent flying by Don's bo crashed into the guard directly in front of April, who toppled and slammed into the woman.

April lost her balance and fell to the ground, and the small wooden box she was carrying slipped out of her hand and hit the floor about the same time as she did, bouncing once as its lid sprung open.

And then -- Raph wasn't quite sure how it happened, but smoke,_ red_ smoke, welled up from the open box, expanding and swirling and shaping itself in mid-air, until it took on the shape of a woman. And all of a sudden, just as if reality or Raph's perception of it had shifted, it _was_ a woman; living and breathing, with dark skin and wearing what was unmistakably a harem girl's outfit -- complete with a bare midriff and semi-see-through pants -- in red silk.

Raph almost dropped his sais in surprise, and would have been attacked by the closest guard if said guard hadn't also caught glimpse of the smoke-to-woman transformation.

"L-lady Asheena?!" said the guard.

The woman looked momentarily dizzy, as if she was coming out of some deep trance, and stared uncertainly at the scene in front of her.

Then, she seemed to come more into focus, glared at all the fighting guards and mutants, and with an irritated expression on her face, snapped her fingers.

Immediately, the fight stopped, all its participants -- guards, Don and Splinter -- frozen into their battle positions, still like statues.

"I do apologize," the woman muttered. "I just cannot deal with huge fights just after waking up like that." Then, she looked over April, Raph and the few guards who had escaped the freeze and were now gaping at her with astounded expressions. "Well," she said, looking resigned. "Which one of you was it that opened the box?"

"Ah... me?" said April in a small voice. "But it was an accident, I didn't mean --" she cut herself off as the harem girl dropped to her knees in front of her, bowing her head.

"O my Mistress," she said. "Your humble servant obeys you. What is your wish?"

* * *

The_ third_ thing Michelangelo noticed after his vision returned was that Susan Palmer was lying at his feet, on her back, unconscious and unmoving.

The _second_ thing was that none of the others seemed to be around, apart from Klunk, who was still in his arms and gazing around with big cat eyes.

The_ first_ thing was that they were no longer in Susan's over-filled apartment, but under a clear, blue sky, on a gentle and gradual slope with an orderly row of trees on one side and a sandy shore with a calmly roaring ocean on the other, and no sign of a house or car or cloud of smog or anything that even _hinted_ of New York City.

"Whoa..." for a moment, it was all Mike could do to keep himself from falling over in sheer astonishment. But then, he came to his senses. _No,_ his mind told him. _There'll be plenty of time to wonder what the heck happened later. There's an unconscious woman by your feet, deal with that before you do anything else._

Anxiously, he put Klunk down on the ground before kneeling beside the unconscious Susan.

"What's happened to her?" said the cat, sniffing at the woman's fingers.

"Dunno," said Mike, hearing how worried his own voice sounded. "Hope she's not -- nah, she's breathing... and a steady pulse too..." He breathed a sigh in relief, but only a small one. What was wrong with her? Had she simply fainted after the strain of going all, uh, Queen, or was it something more serious?

"So where are we?" said Klunk, looking around. "And where are all the others? Splinter?!" he called. "Raph? Donny? Apriiiil!"

There was no answer.

"Looks like we're alone here, buddy," said Mike anxiously. "Looks like that light... whatever it was... either just took us since we were closest to Mrs. Palmer when she started going all Queenish, or it took the others and sent them somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"No idea. Hope they're all right, though." Mike swallowed, looking down at Susan again. "Man, what I wouldn't give to have Splinter or Donny here right now. They'd know what to do with a fainted woman." Mike tried to think -- wasn't it something about turning them over to their side, so they wouldn't choke on their tongues, or something?

He reached out, grabbing her arm and shoulders and began to turn her.

_"Step away from the Lady, fiend!"_ a sudden voice ordered; a small but stern voice filled with a cross demanding.

Mike instinctively let go of Susan, who rolled limply back on her back, and looked up to see one of the strangest things he had ever seen outside daytime TV: A large mouse, standing on its hind legs and with a white feather stuck behind one of its ears. In its paw, it held a miniature rapier that seemed to be glowing with a soft, pulsating light.

"What the...!" said Mike, astonished.

"Step away from the Queen," the mouse repeated. "If you are friends, I shall not harm you -- but if you seek to harm so much as a hair on Her Majesty's head, you shall find that decades of bathing in liquid light has not taken the sting off my blade!"

"Look, I --" Mike began, but was suddenly interrupted by Klunk.

"Go nibble on a bit of cheese, why don't ya?!" The cat was arching his back and fluffing out his tail, glaring at the mouse (who was easily larger than him). "We're not afraid of a mouse with a glowing toothpick!"

_"Excuse me?"_ The mouse looked furious.

"I told you to go stick your head in a mousetrap!"

"Uh, Klunk..." said Mike, making _'quit it'_ motions with his hands. He'd had no idea that his cat could be so... _Raph-like_ when faced with a weapon.

The mouse was right in front of Klunk in the flash of an eye, holding the rapier dangerously close. "Be grateful, vermin, that my business here is only with the Queen, or I should have been more than happy to teach you a thing or two on how to properly address a Mouse!" (He pronounced it, impossibly enough, with an audible capital latter.) "Now, for the last time! Stand aside, unless you will --"

"Whoa, wait, wait," said Mike, scooping a struggling Klunk up in his arms. "You know that she's the Queen?"

"Of course," said the Mouse in a dignified way. "I have been sent here by the Lion himself to tend to her in her time of need, like my people once tended to him in his!"

"Look, this is obviously some sorta mistake," said Mike hurriedly. "We're with her. Or, I mean, we're here to..." he paused, realizing that he had no idea why they were here. "Look, we don't want anything bad to happen to her, either!"

"Then do stand aside and let me tend to her," said the Mouse, a little calmer but still glaring suspiciously at Klunk.

"Don't let him do it!" the cat hissed. "I'm the Chosen of Aslan, not him! You can't trust a mouse as far as you can throw it!"

The Mouse's expression changed a little, though not much. "My humblest apologies, Cat," he said in a voice that didn't sound particularly humble or apologetic. "I did not realize you were completely insane. There is no honor in fighting the delusional -- though if you refuse to let me tend to the Queen in her need, I will make an exception!"

"Well," said Mike. "Not to be disrespectful or anything, but how do we know you're not gonna hurt her?"

"How do _I_ know that _you_ aren't?" the Mouse countered. "Aslan told me only to go and tend to the Queen, he said nothing whatsoever about turtle-like creatures who try carrying her off --"

"I wasn't gonna carry her off!"

"--and rude felines. But if you truly are on the side of the Queen and the Lion, swear to me now that you will not do, and have not done, anything to harm Her Majesty!"

"We swear," said Mike immediately. "Don't we, Klunk?"

"I'll swear if he swears," Klunk answered, who seemed just as suspicious of the Mouse as the Mouse was of him.

"Very well." The Mouse raised his glowing rapier to the sky. "I swear upon my honor, upon my tail, and upon Aslan himself, that I seek no harm to the Queen."

"That good enough for you?" said Mike.

Klunk nodded slowly, and didn't protest when Mike stepped aside to let the Mouse go up to the still unconscious Susan.

"Thank you," said the Mouse courteously. He swung his rapier around and then, to Mike's surprise, plucked out of thin air what looked like a little piece of red-hot coal. It didn't seem to be burning him at all, but before Mike could speculate on what the reason might be (it might have had something to do with the glowing rapier), the mouse had dropped the coal into Susan's open mouth.

Klunk twisted and wrestled himself out of Mike's arms, landing on the ground and running up to the Mouse. "Are you crazy? Whatcha go and make her eat hot coal for? As if she wasn't in a bad enough situation as it was?! And you swore by your _tail_ that --"

And then, a loud gasp from Susan made them all turn and look at her.

She had opened her eyes, and was now staring up at the sky with an astonished expression on her face.

Mike leant over her. "Mrs. Palmer?" he said. "You okay?"

Very slowly, she nodded. "I... think so. What happened?"

"You're telling me that the red-hot coal actually made her better?!" said Klunk in a disbelieving voice. "Why didn't anyone tell me that coal had healing powers?! I can think of at last a dozen situations where knowing that would have come in handy --"

"Don't display your ignorance," said the Mouse, glaring at him. "That was a fire-berry from the valleys of the Sun."

"A _what_ from the valleys of _where?"_

Susan slowly raised herself into a sitting position, staring at the mouse. For a long time, she said nothing, just staring at it with increasingly wide eyes, while the mouse seemed to momentarily forget its quarrel with Klunk and instead bowed deeply and elegantly.

"Your Majesty," it said. "I am proud and delighted to meet you again."

"...Reepicheep?" said Susan, in a voice barely above a whisper. "Is that really you?"

Mike and Klunk looked at each other, and almost simultaneously mouthed: _"Reepicheep?!"_

"Indeed, your Majesty!" The mouse straightened itself and smiled widely. "Reepicheep, former Chief of the Talking Mice of Narnia. I'm honored that your Majesty has not forgotten me."

"Believe me... you're not someone a person forgets easily." Susan shook her head, but with a faint smile upon her lips. "So, the photograph did work. Am I -- are _we,"_ she added, glancing at Mike and Klunk, "back in Narnia?"

But Reepicheep looked solemnly up at her. "Aslan once told your Majesty that you would never return to the land of Narnia, and your Majesty should know as well as anyone that Aslan never lies. And I," he straightened himself, "have sworn never to return to Narnia's shores. I'm sorry, your Majesty, but this is not Narnia."

Susan's face was a mask of disappointment that quickly changed to one of concern and anxiousness. "Where are we, then? And -- why did you swear never to return to Narnia? Has something happened?"

"Many things," said Reepicheep. "But worry not about Narnia. The story behind my oath is a long and complicated one, not swiftly told. I would have thought that your royal siblings, King Edmund and Queen Lucy, might have told you about it."

"They..." Susan paused. The emotion drained from her face and she was once again an old, mournful woman. "They might have, but I didn't... I didn't want to..." She sighed heavily. "Lucy and Edmund... they died a long time ago. Along with Peter, and... everybody. There's only me left. And I'm old now... Too old."

Reepicheep placed a gentle paw on her knee. "As long as one is alive, your Majesty, one is never too old. And death is never enough to part you from your loved ones. We shall all meet in Aslan's country when the time is right for it."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. But there are things to be done here and now, and your Majesty is the one who must do them. Can you walk?"

As Susan nodded and got to her feet, Klunk whispered to Mike: "You really think we should trust him?"

"Mrs. Palmer knows him," Mike whispered back. "Besides, he fed her that... that... whatever it was, and she looks a whole lot better now, doesn't she?"

"But -- he's a mouse!"

"So? Master Splinter's a rat, and ya never had any problems with him."

"Of course not. I don't mind rats. But mice? They're horrible! Always tormenting poor cats, dropping anvils in their heads, hitting them with frying pans, blowing them up with dynamite..."

Mike couldn't help laughing. "Donny was right... we really need to start being more careful with what we watch on TV when you're around! Klunk, buddy, _Tom and Jerry_ isn't real! It's just a cartoon! 'Sides, we don't really have much of an alternative, do we? He's the only one who knows where this place is, so he's prolly the only one who can help us get back to the others... and maybe even find Leo!"

Klunk didn't look like he was completely convinced. "All the same, if that mouse starts reaching for a frying pan, I'm gonna have his hide -- no matter if he was sent by Aslan or not."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Klunk vs. Reepicheep -- it had to happen! (Of course, Reep would have won the fight quite easily, so Klunk was lucky that Mike intervened.) Really, when I started out writing this I knew I had to use Reepicheep somehow, but I didn't want to contradict the canon of the books too badly -- and canon states that the valiant Mouse sailed East to Aslan's country and never returned to Narnia. But then, when Reepicheep makes a cameo in _The Last Battle, _it's mentioned very specifically that he carries a sword -- but he threw his sword away at the end of_ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_. I suppose he could have gotten a new one in Aslan's country, but still... here was a tiny little plot hole that I could exploit. Was it possible that Reepicheep had made one last return to the world and gotten his sword back?

Then I got to think about what might happen to a sword that had spent several decades half-buried in the waters of the Utter it had been normal water, the sword would have rusted, but this water was described by Reepicheep as "drinkable light." And really, the idea of Reepicheep with a glowing sword with mystical (possibly holy) properties was too fascinating not to use.

As fun as it is to write Reepicheep, though, even more interesting (to me) is the part of the story that happens in Calormen. There'll be more on the so-called Box of Doom and the Tisroc -- who is not going to live forever whether I want him to or not -- and this strange woman, Asheena, later on.

In the next chapter, however, we'll get to know more about the Red Lady, and see Leo start on his mission for King Rilian.


	8. The Witch, the Hag and the Werewolf

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER SEVEN:  
The Witch, the Hag and the Werewolf**

**

* * *

**

King Rilian had originally planned on coming along to find the Red Lady, claiming that it would be a poor King who stayed behind in safety while sending an honored guest out on a perilous journey, but Puddleglum had managed to talk him out of it.

"Begging your pardon, Sire, but it's all in the best interest of the country that you stay here," the Marsh-wiggle had said, with his customary gloomy expression. "What with the Witches and the Werewolves and Aslan knows what else out there, it's the duty of the King to put the interest of his country first. You are the only King we have! The castle might collapse or we might suddenly run out of food and starve to death or that your Majesty might get sick and die, but at least you're in a good position avoid being mauled by wild animals or having a tree fall on you -- or meeting that Witch, whoever she may be."

"Puddleglum," the King had sighed, "a mother hen would have accused you of being too overprotective." But he had finally agreed to stay behind.

When Leonardo had respectfully declined the use of a horse, Moorwin had finally offered to accompany him as his guide to the forest. To everyone's relief, the Turtle had welcomed her company -- although the King had taken taken her aside shortly before the departure and begged her to be careful.

"It's with a heavy heart I send you out," he'd said. "Though I trust you to guide Master Leonardo truly, and I trust him to be valiant in battle, I do not like sending a loyal subject -- much less a good friend -- out on what may be a dangerous journey. I shall count the days until you, Aslan be willing, return safely to Cair Paravel."

And so, it was a thoughtful Moorwin who returned to the forest with her new companion -- at a considerably slower pace than the journey to Cair Paravel had been.

In some ways, she supposed it wouldn't have done much harm to let Leonardo go on alone on this trip at all. He certainly seemed to be the type to manage perfectly well on his own, no matter where fate might send him, but she had promised King Rilian that she would stay by the Turtle's side. And not only was it unthinkable for a true-blooded Narnian to break a promise to her King, but Moorwin's family had been special friends to the Royal family ever since her Grandfather commanded King Caspian's army in the fight against Miraz the Usurper.

In fact, Moorwin had always been very fond of King Rilian, even on a more personal level. They had been occasional playmates when they were younger, and even now, when they were both grown, she thought of him with great fondness and -- well, yes, love. Of course, she knew very well that he was a Son of Adam and she a Centauress, and that there could never be anything more between them than friendship, but still...

Still, she hastened to correct herself, there was no point in daydreaming like a little foal about things that could never happen. It was much better to concentrate on the task that lay ahead of her.

"Moorwin," said Leo, calling her out of her thoughts, "how many people, or animals, or Centaurs, live in the forest? I forgot to ask the King."

"I... can't tell you the exact number," she answered, pretending that she had paid attention all along. " Forest-dwellers are not easily counted. Thousands, at least. Why are you asking?"

"Just wondering if it was possible to get the message out to all of them," said Leo. "Someone must have seen those Werewolves after they ran from us... I was hoping we might get some information that could lead us to their current whereabouts."

"I see," said Moorwin slowly. "Well, upon my word, if you want to know the latest gossip of the forest, Portly would be the person to talk to."

Leo smiled. "I'm not surprised. Anyone who likes to talk _that_ much has to be pretty well-informed... Assuming he lets people get a word in edgewise."

"I think we had better see my Grandfather first of all, though," said Moorwin. "This will interest him greatly, and he may have some advice for us."

Truth be told, she was rather anxious to see Glenstorm again -- even if it hadn't been all that long since she left him, quite a few things had happened since then, and she really wanted his perspective on the new development. Who knew, maybe he had even seen something in the stars about this Red Lady character.

* * *

The Red Lady sighed and toyed with the ruby on her necklace.

Why did everything have to be so difficult? It had only been a couple of days since she first heard the reports of that green-skinned creature who had somehow seen through her enchantments and killed two of her werewolves, but already this creature was making more complications for her. Thanks to him, Cair Paravel was now guarded so well, and by so many eyes, that not even her stealthiest subjects, aided by her subtlest magics, could get in undetected.

And the green creature was still out there. Whispers around the forest and the countryside informed her that he had pledged his alliance to king Rilian and had vowed to find and probably destroy her, the Red Lady. Normally, she wouldn't have been too concerned about this, for a Witch -- especially an immortal and ageless one -- makes many enemies in her long life, and so far she had been able to deal with most of her enemies.

But this green creature... if he really _was_ an agent of Aslan, he would probably mean a lot more trouble. That wretched Lion tended to choose agents that were far more dangerous than they seemed at first glance -- for example, you wouldn't have guessed that the four children that first stumbled so helplessly into Narnia during the Hundred-Year Winter would turn out to be four of the most dangerous opponents ever, ancient prophecy or not. And who could forget the two children and the Marsh-wiggle from just a few years back? The Red Lady had seen them with her own eyes, however briefly, and they were so weak and pitiful that she could have destroyed them all with a flick of her wrist; and yet they had toppled the mighty underground empire of her sister, the Lady in Green.

_But then again,_ the Red Lady thought to herself, _my sister always was a bit of an idiot. Going around and turning herself into snakes, as if that ever helped anyone. _She giggled as a new thought struck her. _I bet she looked incredibly silly when she died. Here she was, having survived for more than a thousand years after the Hundred-Year Winter, plotting in secrecy and just getting ready to take over Narnia... and then: Ooops, dead because of two babies and a frogface!_

She laughed heartily at this, imagining the dumbstruck face of her sister in her last moments. Maybe she'd even turned into a snake, and the look of a snake in embarrassment and shock had to be something worth seeing. The Red Lady was almost sorry she'd missed that.

_And yet,_ she mused as her mirth died, _she was my sister, and I am under an obligation of honor to avenge her and preferably see to it that her plans of conquest of all Narnia are honored and carried out. What a drag._

To comfort herself, she held the ruby up in front of her face to admire her reflection in the shiny red surface for a while. It was a heartening sight-- pale and unclear and not at all as good as it would have been in a proper mirror, true, but the radiant beauty was obvious enough to lift her spirits considerably.

She really was pretty, she thought with great satisfaction. No, she was more than pretty, she was _gorgeous._ Why, even the fabled Queen Swanwhite from long ago, whom the legends claimed was "so beautiful that if her face were reflected in a pool the image of her face remained for a year and a day," would have appeared as plain and unattractive next to the Red Lady. (Not that the Red Lady's reflection ever remained behind her, of course, but whoever believed in those old legends anyway?)

No, the Red Lady suddenly thought, she really couldn't sit around and just admire herself now. There was work to be done, plans to be made, annoying green creatures to be taken care of. She winked coquettishly to her reflection before tearing herself away from it, instead clutching the ruby and commanding: "I want the Captain of the Werewolves here. _Now._ Oh, and he's to bring that old woman, Ylgameth," she added almost as an afterthought.

The ruby glowed for a brief moment, as if in acknowledgement.

Not two minutes later, two people entered her throne room; one was the Captain of the Werewolves, in his human form, and the other, being pulled along, was an old, white-haired and remarkably ugly woman. The latter met the Red Lady's eyes immediately, her face filled with barely-hidden contempt -- but at least it also contained some of the proper submission that a weaker person should show when faced with a superior.

"You called us, M'Lady," said the Werewolf, bowing without letting go of the old woman's hand.

"Yes, I did," said the Red Lady, acknowledging them both with a short nod. "I called _you_ here because you're the most loyal and the brightest of all my Werewolves, and I asked you to bring the old woman because I, however much I might dislike most of the idiotic things she say, might need her council."

"M'Lady," said the old woman, managing to make it sound almost like an insult. Immediately, she gave a shriek of pain.

"None of your cheek, Ylgameth" said the Red Lady, clutching her ruby and delighting in seeing the ugly old woman doubling over with the agony. "You don't like me and I don't like you, but I'm still the youngest and the last -- and the most beautiful -- of the Northern Witches, and _you will respect me as such._ Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly... M'Lady...!" Ylgameth managed to say.

"Good." The Red Lady let go of the ruby, and watched the old woman steady herself, breathing in relief. "And with that out of the way, I have been thinking about this green creature that's been stopping my plans. We don't know much about him, other than that he's apparently capable of seeing through my invisibility enchantments, and a skilled enough fighter to take on three werewolves on his own. Where did he come from, and what does he want?"

"If you would just heed my council, M'Lady, we wouldn't need to bother with the green creature," said Ylgameth.

The Red Lady glared at her. "For the very last time," she said (although she knew she had said this 'for the very last time' at least ten times before), "I am not going to call Jadis back to life."

"With all due respect, M'Lady," said Ylgameth, with very little actual respect, "Queen Jadis was the first, the oldest and the most powerful Witch of Narnia. She alone had the power to gather all the dark creatures of this world: The Cruels, the Succubi and the Incubi, the Wraiths, the Efreets, the Orknies..."

"I know, I know, you don't have to list them all."

"The point is, only the White Witch could unite them. When she died, the only ones who remained loyal to the Northern Witches were the Hags and the Werewolves. Even the Black Dwarfs are refusing to have anything to do with you anymore. Your sister made an attempt, at least, by trying to get the Giants back as our allies, and the enslavement of the Gnomes and Salamanders, but now that she is dead, all her attempts are for naught."

"And good riddance, I say," the Red Lady snorted. "The Giants are idiots, the Gnomes are cowards and the Salamanders are useless. I can't even begin to imagine what my sister saw in them in the first place. And besides," she added, glaring at Ylgameth, "I wouldn't call too much attention to the situation of the Dwarfs, if I was you. It was _your_ fault that we lost them to begin with!"

"I was merely trying to get something _done,_ M'Lady. The plan was flawless. Miraz the Usurper --"

"Miraz the Usurper has been dead for decades, and so has just about everyone else who was involved in that idiotic plan of yours!" snapped the Red Lady. "I'm not stupid. I know perfectly well that when a Witch is called back to life she's so furious that she kills everyone around her. But you neglected to inform that Black Dwarf of _that_ little detail, didn't you? Remember how his kinsmen took it when they found out that his life would have been forfeit even if the ritual _had _succeeded? No, Ylgameth, there will be no further attempts at calling Jadis. I see no reason to waste the lives of perfectly good Werewolves and Hags, not to _mention_ myself. Is that clear?"

"M'Lady..." Ylgameth's voice turned sweet, soothing and pleasant, all hostility and loathing suddenly vanishing. "I beg you to reconsider..." She didn't get any further before falling to her knees and shrieking in pain.

The Red Lady looked at her with a stern expression as she continued clutching her ruby. "I _said,_ is that clear?!"

"Obey the Red Lady, Hag," snarled the Werewolf. "We are both her sworn subjects, and we will follow no-one but her! M'Lady," he added, glancing up with bloodlust in his eyes. "Permission to teach her an extra lesson?"

"Permission denied," said the Red Lady, and after a bit of inner debate loosening the grip on her ruby. "That is, unless she continues to nag like this. Well?" she added, looking at Ylgameth, who was still on the floor and gasping.

"M'Lady," said the Werewolf when it became clear that the Hag was too out of breath to speak at the moment. "If you will permit me to say so, the green creature can surely be disposed of quite easily. I hear he's on his way back to the forest as we speak, far away from the protection of Cair Paravel." He grinned toothily. "Even he would not be able to fight against _fifty_ Werewolves."

"You would do that for me? You're so sweet," the Red Lady cooed. "Of course, you are all completely in my power and would suffer horrible, horrible pain if you dared resisting me, but it's nice of you to offer to do it of your own free will, all the same." She blew him a kiss. "But I don't think that's the way to go. We've seen what might happen when these agents of Aslan try fighting back. And he seems to be resistant to my magic as well, or at least he can see through my illusions. I wouldn't want to risk it without some kind of back-up plan."

"Wait..." said Ylgameth from the floor, struggling to raise herself and failing. "Here's an... idea... for you... All you have to do is... put the green creature... under the same spell that you had... intended for the King. No-one could stand against that spell."

"I would need a _part_ of him for that, you idiot," said the Red Lady. "A tooth, some skin scrapings, a fingernail... or does he even have fingernails? I'm not sure. But I'd need some small part of him here, with me, for the spell to work. For that matter, I need a part of the King as well, and I don't have that either. Why do you think I sent the werewolves to Cair Paravel to begin with? But now Cair Paravel is impossible to get to for even our most savage warriors or powerful spell-workers, and the idea is completely and utterly useless. Thank you for your horribly bad advice."

"Put a spell... on someone else," said Ylgameth, who was recovering and talking a little more easily now. "Someone inconspicuous... someone you can put under your control and send to Cair Paravel."

"Hmm." The Red Lady paused in thought. "And the green creature?"

"Surely... it wouldn't be hard to get that small piece of him... once he is back in the forest."

The Red Lady sighed, but finally nodded. "All right. But if we're doing this, we'll do it the proper way. Captain... gather the troops and make the preparations. You're both dismissed."

"My pleasure, M'lady," said Ylgameth, sarcasm dripping from every syllable as she retreated from the room, following the Captain.

The Red Lady allowed herself a small sigh. Ylgameth had really been _such_ a pain ever since she had entered the Red Lady's service five years ago, with her constant whining about how they should resurrect Jadis. But she _was_ the oldest and wisest (though not by any means the most powerful) of the Hags, so she was handy to keep around in case some good advice was ever needed.

Ylgameth didn't realize this, of course, but it would have been the easiest thing in the world for the Red Lady to wipe her mind, make her forget everything about Jadis and her obsession with resurrecting her: The problem was that she couldn't have done it without at the same time removing a good part of her experience and wisdom.

And that had actually been pretty good advice, even if Ylgameth couldn't have known just _how_ good. After all, very few Hags and Werewolves knew the real reason why they, unlike all the other former members of Jadis's army, stayed loyal to the dwindling Witch Clan... It was _old_ magic. Get a small piece of someone -- a strand of hair, a tooth, a fingernail -- and you've got them under your control. And Werewolves shedded like mad, and Hags needed to cut their nails approximately once a week.

The Red Lady stroked her ruby, almost as if it was a beloved pet, and went back to admiring her pale reflection. A very beautiful and very evil grin had appeared on the reflection's gorgeous face, and its eyes twinkled with mirth and mischief.

"You are so cute when you're scheming," she lovingly told the reflection, being rewarded with the look of mutual adoration.

_Yes... _she thought gleefully. I_ think I have an idea on how to do this... with any luck, I'll be able to deal with both the green creature and the King all in one stroke._

* * *

Of all the Centaurs in Narnia's forests, none were more respected or revered than Glenstorm, previously General of the Old Narnian Army, personal friend to King Rilian and to King Caspian before him. Though he was getting on in years, even for a Centaur, Glenstorm was still clear of mind, and widely considered a source of wisdom and advice, though he himself would argue that particular point.

"What I know, I learn from the skies," he said. "The stars provide all answers; my role is simply to read them."

And for nearly two hundred years, he had done exactly that, and the stars had revealed their secrets to him time and again. They had told him of the fall of Miraz the Usurper and the rise of Caspian the Tenth; they had warned of great tragedy and peril for young Prince Rilian shortly before his mother, the Queen, died -- but after the Prince had vanished, they had also spoken of hope and of aid from unexpected places.

Now, they were speaking to him of great danger and even greater confusion. They spoke of old enemies resurfacing in new ways, of vengeance and betrayal, of deceit and despair -- but also of revelations and justice, of great heroics and greater love. They spoke of choices that had to be made, that could change the entire world, and of events being set in motion which would have profound effects on both past and future, beyond what even he could see.

Following Moorwin's departure for Cair Paravel together with the otherworldly traveller, Leonardo, Glenstorm had watched the sky closely, and poured over his star-charts and books to see if he could find out whether this meant that his Granddaughter would be pulled into the upcoming events, and if so, what part she might play in them.

What he found was both clarifying and confusing all at once. The charts he'd drawn up for Moorwin did not directly confirm or deny that she would get involved in the events that were to follow, but they did speak of hardships and trials, of great losses but also great victories, and most of all of _changes_.

Whatever Moorwin was going to go through, it would change her greatly, though Glenstorm couldn't say how. He knew that while the stars never lied, they would seldom tell the whole story. Still -- it was a Grandfather's right and priveliege to worry about his Granddaughter, and he was determined to find out all that he could.

And with that in mind, he packed a few of his most important star-charts in his satchel and set out for Aslan's How, where he hoped he would find the answers he was seeking.

If he'd waited a while longer, he might have been home when Leonardo and Moowin came to call on him, and the story might have turned out quite differently -- which just goes to prove that even a Centaur might make very grave mistakes every now and then.

**

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**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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**Author's notes: **And so we find out a bit more abut the Red Lady -- she's the younger sister of the Lady in the Green Kirtle (in this story most commonly referred to as simply "The Lady in Green"), the villainess of _The Silver Chair._

It's a semi-popular theory, based on Nikabrik's attempted rescurrection of the _White Witch_ in Prince Caspian, that the Lady in the Green Kirtle was in fact the White Witch called back to life -- a theory at least partly supported by the fact that they're played same actress in the BBC TV series -- but I never quite bought into that; they strike me as two very different people. So, for the purpose of this story at least, the Lady in Green was another Witch, younger and not as powerful, who was present among the evil creatures in Jadis's army and among the few survivors of the final battle. Of course, if the White Witch and the Lady in Green were not the same, I did want to at least explain why nobody _had_ brought the White Witch back if it was so possible... But I think I managed to give an at least semi-plausible reason here: Anyone who tried would effectively have ended up dead. It seems like poor Nikabrik was being played for a fool all along.

A reviewer called Elizabeth commented on my portrayal of Aslan, but since the review wasn't signed I can't answer it with a private message -- so I'll answer her questions here: I wasn't trying to undermine Aslan's "true form and personality," and I actually try very hard not to contradict the Christian overtones in the character. In my original draft of the story I had him make a reference to Narnia as "one of my worlds," but removed it because it made it seem like he only ruled over a limited number of worlds, and that does go against canon. I never wanted to say "Aslan is not Jesus," because, well, he is. But at the same time I didn't want to directly say "Aslan _is_ Jesus" either, because to me that goes against his portrayal in the books. Lewis hinted at it many times, yes, but none of the stories, not even _The Last Battle_, ever used the name Jesus or directly mentioned the Christian religion.

To me, Aslan works best if he remains a slightly mysterious character, one that shouldn't be explained or examined too closely... I find it very telling that in the books he hardly ever introduces himself by name; we're almost always told his name by other characters. Even in_ A Horse and his Boy, _where Shasta directly asks Aslan who he is, Aslan simply replies "Myself." And that's how I try to write Aslan: He's the Lion, and he is Good, and you don't really need further explanations. But if you want to read him as Jesus, and King of All Worlds, there shouldn't be anything in this story that contradicts that.

Elizabeth also asked about the Turtles' signature colors, and, well, that did make me think a little. This story, as originally conceived, was written for _Stealthy Stories_, which is a TMNT discussion/fanfic community. I knew that several of the members there were not very familiar with the Narnia books, which is why I've spent so much time on introducing Narnian concepts and history in this story: For several of my original readers, this was their first introduction to Narnia, and I wanted them to discover it along with the Turtles in the story.

Somewhere along the way, though, this seems to have become more a Narnia story that happens to star the TMNT, rather than a TMNT story that takes place in Narnia... if that makes any sense. And after I've started revising and posting the story here, it seems like I'm getting a few readers from the other side of the fandom, who are familiar with Narnia but not so much with the Turtles. Hopefully the Turtles don't need all that much introduction (after all, some of C.S. Lewis's protagonists don't really get much introduction before they go into Narnia either...) But, I'll be happy to give you their signature colors:

Leonardo (the leader) -- Blue.  
Michelangelo (the wisecracking goofball) -- Orange.  
Donatello (the smart guy) -- Purple.  
Raphael (the hotheaded rebel) -- Red.

Hope that helps. And now that this impossibly long edition of the author's notes is over... Next chapter, we'll return to Calormen and see what happens in the palace of the Tisroc, and get the real story behind the so-called "Box of Doom."


	9. Asheena's Story

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT:  
Asheena's Story**

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**

Ardazhin Tisroc, the current -- and hopefully eternal, as his subjects would always hurry to add -- ruler of Calormen, was a man who had everything. Or at least as close to "everything" as a man _could_ have.

He was the unquestioned ruler of the greatest and mightiest country in this world, he was by far the richest and most respected (or at least feared) man in Calormen, and he was also blessed with a youth and strength that lesser men would have given anything for; he was approaching his sixty-eighth year and yet he didn't look a day over thirty. He had many wives -- all the loveliest, most delightful young women you ever saw -- and so many children that he could hardly count them. He had slaves and servants by the hundreds.

And he also had a secret; a deep, dark secret that, for all his wealth and grandness, had given him many a sleepless night for fear that it would be discovered.

This secret was the main reason why he was, at present, rushing down the corridors of his great palace, followed by several of his bravest and strongest sons, towards the Forbidden Wing -- the one place in the palace where only Ardazhin Tisroc himself and a select few of his most trusted guards were allowed to go.

"O my Father, delight of my eye, may you live forever," his oldest son panted. "Why are we racing towards the Forbidden Wing like this? Surely your guards, mighty as they are, must have subdued the demon by now!"

"Display not your ignorance, o my son, lest people will call you a new Rabadash!" Ardazhin replied harshly. Though his life was largely one of leisure, he was in almost ridiculously good shape and had no problems speaking without panting, even while running at top speed. "Demons are cunning and powerful creatures, and demons coming from Narnia are worse than any! He will stop at nothing to get the Box of Doom for himself, and if it falls into Narnian hands, o my esteemed idiot of a son, our lovely Calormen is lost! We cannot take any undue risks! So cease your questions and run!"

"To hear is to obey," the son panted, and said no more.

As they came to the Forbidden Wing, a most strange sight greeted them: There, in the corridor in front of them, were the guards that had been sent up to subdue the terrible demon, all frozen and stiff like statues in various poses that spoke of a ferocious battle.

"It must be the work of the demon!" one of the sons exclaimed. "He has turned all the guards into stone even as they attacked him!"

"Not the demon..." came a weak voice from the floor, and both Ardazhin and his sons turned to see one guard, who had apparently escaped whatever petrification spell had been placed upon the others. "It was Lady Asheena."

"What did you just say?!" Ardazhin snapped, turning to him and hoping that his voice didn't betray how terrified he felt. "What is this about Lady Asheena?!"

"Lady Asheena," the guard replied, struggling to sit up. "My lord Tisroc -- may you live forever -- Lady Asheena, your wife... She is... she is not human! She is a Djinn!"

Ardazhin's heart skipped a beat. "O my sons!" he managed to sputter. "Put this dog of a guard to death immediately for daring to speak such slanderous words against one of my wives and your mothers!"

"To hear is to obey," the sons chorused, advancing on the guard with drawn scimitars.

"I speak the truth!" the guard yelled, despair obvious in his eyes. "Most honorable Tisroc -- may you live forever -- I speak nothing but the truth! A barbarian woman stole the Box of Doom, and opened it, but instead of the sky falling as you, o my eternal Master, have always claimed it would, a cloud of red smoke emerged and turned into Lady Asheena, who immediately swore her pledge of slavery and obedience to the barbarian woman! She petrified all the guards apart from myself and then vanished together with the woman and her three demons! She is a Djinn!"

Ardazhin would have cursed, if he'd thought he could have gotten away with it and not lose dignity. "Hold your swords, o my sons!" he commanded. "This poor man is obviously delusional and says things that cannot be -- it must be the demon who has confused his mind. You," he said, pointing at his youngest son (whose name he'd certainly be able to recall after a few moments' thought). "Take him with you to the garden and give him some wine. Listen not to his insane ramblings -- Asheena is no Djinn! It is all demon trickery!"

"To hear is to obey," said the youngest son.

"The rest of you, follow me," said Ardazhin. "The Box of Doom must be recovered from the demon at all costs!"

He knew that it was probably already too late, but he was not going to give up just yet. There would be plenty of time later to curse and weep and damn the gods for having sent this fate upon him.

* * *

Donatello woke up with the distinct and very uncomfortable feeling that he knew what it felt like to be a statue.

He blinked to clear his head and found that he was in a small, brightly-lit marble room -- not unlike the one he had unexpectedly found himself in less than half an hour ago, except for the lack of carpets, tapestries and, well, anything else. April, Raphael and Splinter were there as well (Splinter uncharacteristically looking about as dizzy and confused as Don felt), along with a skimpily-dressed young woman he had never seen before.

"What happened?" he said, unable to think of anything else to say. "Where are we now?"

"I believe you took the words out of my mouth, Donatello," said Splinter.

"We're... safe," said April. "We're in one of the back rooms of the palace, it seems."

"The same palace with all those guards who were fighting us just now?" Don muttered. "No offense, April, but you have a weird definition of the word _'safe.'_"

"Oh, this is perfectly safe," said the strange woman, in perfectly fluent English but with the same strange accent that Don had heard from the guards. "This is a minor storage room. It has not been in use for close to twenty years."

"Um, Don, Splinter, meet Asheena," said April, motioning to the woman. "Apparently, she's my new genie."

_"Genie?!"_ said Don, blinking and looking at the strange woman, whose name was apparently Asheena. She looked the part, he had to admit, in a harem-girl outfit, complete with slightly transparent pants, a midriff-baring halter top and a red-and-gold vest that was plainly there more for decoration than actually covering anything. The only two things missing were the veil in front of her face and the diamond in her bellybutton -- if she'd had those, she could have come straight out of some _Arabian Nights_ movie, possibly as an exotic dancer or slave girl (or young wife) to some rich sultan.

"I prefer _'Djinn,'_ if you don't mind," she said, bowing. "The word _'genie'_ is essentially a corruption of the real term."

"This is most astounding," said Splinter, bowing to Asheena after taking a long look at her face, as if to make sure he wasn't lying. "Forgive me, lady Asheena. I had not known the stories of Djinn were true."

"Gotta admit, it fits with the scenery," Raph commented. "Moment I looked out of the window, I knew we'd dropped into _Aladdin!_ So why not a genie?"

Straightening herself, Asheena laughed. "Methinks you are a little confused, o green one. You are in Tashbaan, capital of the fair land of Calormen, and most assuredly not in Aladdin, wherever that is... Is that your home world?"

"Home world?" said Don. "Wait, you know that we're from a different world?"

"You do have the air of other-worldly travellers about you," said Asheena.

"Could you... get us back there?"

"Certainly, if such is my Mistress's wish."

"Hold on," said April suddenly. "You keep saying I'm your Mistress. But -- why?"

Asheena looked genuinely surprised. "Why, you hold the box in your hands, do you not? I am compelled to be the slave of whoever owns that box."

"It was more or less an accident," said April. "The box isn't really mine, I just --"

"Mistress, I do not think you quite understand," said Asheena gently. "The box is in your possession, and that alone is enough to makes you its rightful owner. But why so reluctant? All my previous Masters and Mistresses have been delighted to have a Djinn in their service. I will serve you without failure. Speak, and it shall be done."

"But -- I don't get it," said April. "Why is the box so important? What makes you obey its owner?"

Asheena paused, rubbing her chin. "That," she said eventually, "is a long story. You really know nothing about the Djinn? The curse of the Slave-Djinn?" She looked at April, then at the others.

Splinter shook his head. "I am afraid that we know only the stories that are told in our world, and even they are vague on many details."

"I will tell you, then," said Asheena. "Please, sit down." She snapped her fingers, and all of a sudden, with four puffs of red smoke, four cushioned chairs appeared in the room.

Don looked at the chairs in astonishment. He reached out a hand and touched one of them, and it felt like a completely normal chair. "Okay, I'm impressed," he said.

"Oh, this is nothing," said Asheena cheerfully. "But please, sit -- and I will tell you the story."

* * *

Nowadays, nobody could ever say for certain where the Djinn originally came from. The popular theory in this world was that they were descended from Lilith, Adam's first wife, and as such the closest thing to a human without actually _being_ human; but there were other theories, more prominent in other worlds, that stated that they had originally been spirits of fire before taking on other forms, or that the first Djinn had been minor gods but had bred and over the centuries become a completely different race.

What was certain was that the Djinn were an ancient and powerful race, very adaptable and stronger in magic than most. And like many other races, they spread through many worlds, making their homes where they found them; eating, marrying and living their day-to-day lives.

However, not all the Djinn were content with staying to themselves and just living amongst their own -- after all, they reasoned, they were much more powerful than most other races they would ever meet, so why shouldn't they conquer them and enslave them, ruling over them like kings? And so, these rogue Djinn went out in a hundred different worlds and more, conquering and spreading havoc and misery almost everywhere they went.

Finally, a number of crafty sorcerers and magicians did device a way to stop them, through the most subtle magics and cunning trickery. Highly magical containers were made, in the shape of bottles, urns, boxes and other suitable objects, and the rogue Djinn were trapped inside these, their magic fusing so completely with the container's magic that separating them would be useless.

A trapped Djinn would essentially become a slave to whoever owned his, or her, container -- only capable of using her, or his, most powerful magics in the service of the "Master." And so, the sorcerer did not only free a hundred worlds or more from the threat of the rogue Djinn, but also gained extremely powerful and obedient slaves.

And so, like so many other good ideas, the idea of trapping the Djinn spread out to others, and was twisted and used for other purposes than originally intended: Other sorcerers picked up on the idea, and several of them set out their plans to capture a Djinn of their own, not caring one bit whether the Djinn in question was actually a rogue one or not. In fact, they tended to go after the gentler and less dangerous ones, to make it less of a personal risk. And the most favored targets were young Djinn; children who had not yet learned to properly control their powers and were therefore easily caught and enslaved.

When they grew up and gained control, they had most often been raised to be slaves who would unquestioningly obey every order.

"Many of the original rogue Djinn," Asheena explained, "delight in twisting their Masters' wishes into misfortune. They resent their enslavement and rebel in the only way they can, by deliberately misinterpreting orders, withholding vital information unless asked for it or even answering questions with half-truths. The more cunning rogues can be almost as troublesome to have as slaves as they are to have as enemies. The Djinn who have been caught at an early age and grown up in slavery, though, are less inclined to rebel and more inclined to be helpful, because they know very little else apart from slavery."

April shuddered. "That's... horrible," she said.

"Is it? I do beg your pardon, Mistress, I must be slightly out of touch," Asheena muttered. "All right, a cruel Master can be very horrible, I will admit..."

"I take it that you're not one of those rogue Djinn, then?" said Don, who was starting to get a better grasp on the situation.

"You are correct," said Asheena. "I was enslaved as a child -- or to be more presice, I was sold into slavery by my mother, to one of these magicians. I believe he paid her quite handsomely. Why are you looking like that?"

As one, April, the Turtles and Splinter turned to look back at her, all feeling vaguely disturbed that the Djinn could talk so easily and without any apparent emotion about her own mother selling her as a slave.

"Yeah, well, it's just that we ain't exactly big fans a' slavery," Raph finally said when nobody else took the word.

"I see," said Asheena. "In that case, I do beg your pardon. I have spent most of my life in Calormen, where slavery is simply part of the natural order of things, and did not realize it might seem offensive to you. I take it your home world is more like the country of Narnia in that respect, with no slavery or --"

"Narnia!" Don exclaimed, interrupting her. "You know of Narnia?!"

Asheena blinked at the interruption. "I should say I know of it, o green one. My mother lived there for some years, during the Hundred-Year Winter... is was long before I was born, but she did mention it... and of course Narnia is often talked of here in Tashbaan."

"Do you know how to get there?" said Splinter, sounding as eager as Don felt.

Asheena rubbed her chin. "I do. Narnia lies only a week's travel from here, if you go by ship. Less, if you cross the desert -- at least if you have a swift horse, and go by the mountain pass and through Archenland. Be warned, though, that few people enter Narnia without the leave of Aslan, the great Lion... and the name of Aslan is not exactly well-received here in Calormen, certainly not in the palace of the Tisroc."

"Really?" said Don. "How come?"

"Because Aslan is the mortal enemy of the god Tash, whom most Calormenes worship. They say that Aslan is a demon in the shape of a Lion, wild and deadly and commanding the darkest and most wicked magics." Asheena shook her head. "I would not know, as I have not met him, but I would not like to go against him."

Splinter frowned. "It was by the very same Aslan we were told to seek out Narnia in the first place. I can't say just what he is, but I do know this -- he is no demon."

Asheena nodded, but looked vaguely uneasy. "Please, do not mention this to anyone else you meet here in Calormen. Anyone discovered to be acting under the order or even advice of Aslan is quite likely to be executed on the spot, for fear that they are bringing demonic magic into the country."

"War a' the religions. Ain't it always the same," muttered Raph.

"Silence, Raphael," said Splinter. "Please, miss Asheena, what side are you on in this, let us call it a conflict? You do not seem to include yourself in the line of people who worship this Tash, yet you do not talk as a follower of Aslan either."

"That is correct," said Asheena. "We Djinn stand outside, so to speak. Some of us oppose both Aslan and Tash.... my mother was one of them. I told you she lived in Narnia during the Hundred-Year Winter -- well, this was because she was in the service of a half-Djinn known as Jadis, the White Witch. And this White Witch was also an enemy of Aslan, having conquered Narnia and ruled there, without his consent, for a hundred years."

"What happened?" said April, sounding fascinated.

"Aslan returned, Mistress, and killed the White Witch and most of her army. My mother survived by fleeing to Calormen, where I was born many years later." Asheena shook her head. "Upon my word, I seek no quarrel with the Lion. Demon or not -- my strongest magics and greatest powers would mean nothing to him."

"Miss Asheena," said Splinter. "Can you take us to Narnia? It is important that we get there."

Asheena nodded, again somewhat reluctantly. "If my Mistress desires to go to Narnia, I shall take her to Narnia."

"Take all of us," said April hurriedly.

"Take all of you," Asheena agreed. "If the Lion himself told you to seek out the country, I suppose that he would not object to me transporting you there." Then, she looked over at them, and a change came over her face. "I must admit that I had not thought I would ever meet someone who had actually _talked_ to Aslan, though! I have heard tales of him all my life, but -- please, will you tell me your story? It sounds like one worth hearing!"

"How about we save it for the road to Narnia?" said Don. "It's kind of a long story. Besides, you didn't finish yours yet. What happened after you were sold to the magician?"

"C'mon, we just got a free ticket ta Narnia an' you wanna continue listenin' ta stories?!" Raph hissed.

"Let's just say there are a few details I want to work out before we leave," said Don. "Asheena -- if you don't mind?"

Asheena glanced at April, who nodded.

"Very well," the Djinn said. "I stayed with the magician for two years, most of which I spent practicing minor magics on his command. However, before I was strong enough to really begin serious work for the magician, my box was stolen by a street boy who had found out about me. I was sleeping inside the box and was astonished to find, when it was opened, that it wasn't my old Master who called me, but a young man I didn't know, who told me that he was to be my Master from now on."

"And you just accepted that?" said Don.

"He had my box, what else was I to do? His first command was to enchant a young and beautiful Tarkeena, with whom he had fallen in love, but could not approach because she was so far above his status. And so I made the woman fall so hard for him that the moment she laid eyes upon him, she ran up to him, declared her love for him and kissed him deeply before even remembering to ask what his name was. Very soon they were married, and the street boy became a Tarkaan himself."

April shook her head. "Wishing for someone to fall in love with you... that's cheating."

"Perhaps so, o my Mistress, but very tempting when you are in love yourself," said Asheena. "It was thanks to this that my box became somewhat known among certain Tarkaans and Tarkeenas, and as I grew older, I was passed from Tarkaan to Tarkeena to Tarkaan, serving and servicing as they all saw fit. That is, except for the thirty years I spent with a travelling merchant."

She smiled, a genuine fondness creeping into her voice and her eyes turned slightly dreamy.

"My box had been misplaced and by accident ended up in the hands of this merchant who roamed all over Calormen, selling his goods and wares wherever he came. He was the only Master I had who did not just command -- all he wanted from me, he said, was someone who would travel with him, keep him company, help protect and sell his wares and make sure he did not starve when times were hard. I did as he asked, and became his companion... and eventually his wife.

"They were the happiest thirty years of my life. He was a good man, and I loved him dearly. But alas, he was a mortal man and prone to age and disease, whereas I belong to an immortal race who knows neither age nor death. I begged him, oh how I begged him to command that I turn him into an immortal as well, so that we may stay together and never part...but always he refused, saying that immortality was not a thing meant for him, a Son of Adam, to have.

"He died, sixty-five years old, after we had been married for nearly thirty years, leaving me alone and with no Master... or husband."

"I am sorry," said Splinter.

"Please, don't be," said Asheena softly. "It was a happy time. I grieved for a long time, but I never regretted my time with him."

"But what happened afterwards?" Don wanted to know. "If you were freed back then, how come you're _here_ now?"

"I was never 'freed,' as you put it," said Asheena. "The curse of the Slave-Djinn cannot be broken. It was only a matter of time before my box fell into the hands of someone else... and as fate would have it, this 'someone else' turned out, to my great surprise, to be one of the many great-grandchildren of my second Master -- the street boy that I had granted my first proper wish to by making that Tarkeena fall in love with him! They had gone on to have many children, and their children had children and grandchildren of their own, and the family was now big and very rich and influential.

"But the man who was to become my new Master, he was the youngest of many sons, and was not entitled to any great inheritance or land. And he quickly proved to be the most ambitious and driven of all my Masters, because --"

_"Hold your tongue, Asheena!"_

The sudden voice came from the entrance, and everyone turned around to see a number of richly-dressed men armed with scimitars rush in. Most of them seemed slightly out of breath, but the one in front -- the most insanely decorated and most elaborately dressed of them all, wasn't even breathing heavily.

"I know this guy," said Raph, glaring at the man in front. "That's the guy who yelled about Narnia and demons!"

"I forbid you to say another word!" the man shouted, approaching them all with raised scimitar. "Barbarian dogs and demons, how dare you --!" This was as far as he got, because Asheena had snapped her fingers, and all of a sudden both he and the other men froze in their positions, still as statues.

Don's eyes widened. "What the--?" was all he managed to say.

"I do beg your pardon, o Ardazhin, but you no longer command me," said Asheena, before turning back to April, falling to her knees. "O my Mistress, forgive me. I did think we had more time than this before he would find us."

"Get up, get up!" said April hurriedly. "What is all this? I thought you said you'd brought us somewhere_ safe?"_

"And so I have, Mistress," said Asheena, getting to her feet and lowering her gaze. "You are perfectly safe, for I am sworn to protect you. But, begging your pardon," she added, and there was a faint trace of humor and mischief in her voice now, "you did only wish to be in a _safe_ place, you said nothing of not being _discovered."_

"But --" April began.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to deceive you. But my former Master is a driven and cunning man, and I knew it was only a question of time before he discovered us. Better to have the confrontation sooner than later, I thought."

"You didn't say anything about that!"

"You did not ask, Mistress. And we got to talking about other things, and as you were never in any actual danger, I did not think it high on my list of priorities at the moment." Asheena fell to her knees again, the humor gone from her eyes and voice as she continued: "I see now that this was my error, and I can only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive your unworthy slave."

_Help,_ said April's eyes as they stared at Donatello, clearly at a complete loss at what to do with this groveling.

_'Command her to quit it,'_ Don mouthed, hoping that he had summed up the Djinn's situation correctly.

"Yes, right," said April. "Asheena, I order you to get up! And, um, don't ever get on your knees in front of me again!"

"...As my Mistress commands, so shall it be," said Asheena, getting to her feet once more, but keeping her eyes averted.

"And you don't have to say that either," April continued in a much softer voice. "You can just say 'okay' or something."

Asheena paused, then nodded. "Okay," she said.

"Can I break in here?" said Raph. "You say this bozo is your Master, right?"

"Was,"said Asheena. "Yes. Ardazhin Tisroc, ruler of all Calormen."

"Figgered as much, what with everyone bowin' and scrapin' and wishin' eternal life on him. But, you clearly said that your Master, 'scuse me, _former_ Master, was a _minor_ nobleman. So, that means...?"

Asheena nodded again. "Your suspicions are correct, o green one. Ardazhin has never been the irightful/i Tisroc. He merely wished be the highest and most powerful man in Calormen... and so I made him."

* * *

Ardazhin Tisroc was, as previously mentioned, a man who had everything, or at least as close to "everything" as a man could have: Power, wealth and near-universal adoration... and a deep and dark secret that nagged at his deepest fears:

None of what he had was really his.

Everything he had, everything he was,he had gained without having any right to it; ever since he first stole the box that bound Asheena; the very same Djinn that, if old family stories were to be believed, was the cause of his original family fortune.

Now, a less greedy (and more Tisroc-fearing) man might have set his goals somewhat lower and merely used the Djinn's magic as countless other Calormenes had done before him: To gain wealth and power and possibly the favor of the Tisroc -- may he live forever and all that. But not Ardazhin. He had wanted to _be_ the Tisroc -- a thought and desire that would not even have entered your average Calormenese mind. Everyone knew that the bloodline of the Tisroc was descended from Tash himself, and to wish less than perfect fortune to a Tisroc would be the same as to ask Tash to wreak his anger upon you.

But Ardazhin had never believed that old story. It was enough to use your head a little and look at the history books to realize that the bloodline of the Tisrocs was all too mortal (no god with any kind of self-respect would have allowed some of these to descend from him; take for example Rabadash the Ridiculous, who had at one point gone and turned himself into a donkey). He couldn't imagine that Tash, the dark god, would care one ounce who was actually on the throne of Calormen, as long as he received his tributes and his people followed his laws.

Which was why he had dared the god's "terrible wrath" and removed his "descendant" from the throne.

And, just as he had thought, Tash had never complained.

Not even when Ardazhin had Asheena cast powerful enchantments on the people of Tashbaan to make them without question accept him as their new Tisroc, not even when he'd had Asheena cast spells on him to make him immortal and always in his prime, so that the old "may he live forever" saying would actually mean something, had the god given even the slightest hint that he disapproved.

And so, Ardazhin had proceeded to make the best out of his newly-found status as Tisroc of the mightiest country in the world; which is to say that he focused much more on his own might and wealth than on the country's. As long as Calormen stayed grand, rich and powerful, the citizens remained loyal and law-abiding, and he himself remained the greatest and wealthiest man in Calormen, he didn't care overly much what else anyone did or how they were doing. Those details were better left to Viziers and scribes and paper-pushers, anyway.

And Tash had stayed completely silent on the subject.

Asheena's true nature had to be kept a secret, of course; if anyone knew she was a Djinn, it wouldn't be long before someone figured out the truth behind the current Tisroc, enchantments or no. So Asheena was presented as simply one of the Tisroc's wives; she was certainly beautiful enough to be the kind of woman a Tisroc could have fallen for and married.

(To keep anyone else from discovering and opening her box, he had invented the story of the Box of Doom, which would make the sky fall on whoever opened it -- and it says quite a lot about the Calormenes' traditional total devotion to their ruler that almost everyone had, without hesitation, swallowed this outrageous lie whole.)

He took other wives as well, the youngest and loveliest Tarkeenas in Calormen, and had Asheena enchant them into being eternally young and beautiful, and of course always perfectly in love with him; and by them he had many children, each one from birth carefully enchanted into adoring him and never harboring rebellious thoughts.

Only Asheena was allowed to still think freely. (She was also the only one of his wives never to bear him any children; for Djinn pregnancies are very rare, and a pregnancy resulting of a coupling between Man and Djinn almost unheard of.) It had pleased Ardazhin that the one person in his presence who did not have to love him the way everyone else did, was also the one who had to call him "Master" and obey his every command. Her resentment of him throughout it all became the one jarring note in the otherwise perfect symphony that was his life, the one flaw that kept things interesting and simply by existing made him appreciate the perfection in everything else all the more.

And so, close to fifty years had passed, and Tash had still not said a word against it.

But then...

When Ardazhin returned to his senses, he was greeted by the unwelcome sight of the two turtle demons who had invaded his palace standing over him, accompanied by a sinister-looking rat demon and -- this was the worst part -- a pale, barbarian woman in strange clothes, who was holding Asheena's box. The box that none save him had been allowed to touch for nearly fifty years was now in the hands of _a barbarian woman..._

In despair, he tried jumping up to grab the box, but realized almost immediately that he couldn't move any part of his body below his neck.

"Asheena!" he said in his most commanding voice, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart. "Release me from this hold at once!"

"I am terribly sorry, o my _dear_ husband and former Master," said Asheena from the barbarian woman's side. "But you are not in charge of me anymore."

Ardazhin's gaze turned back to the barbarian woman and felt his heart sink even further. But he hadn't been Tisroc for so long without learning how to give orders, and expect them to be followed. "Barbarian woman!" he snapped. "You will immediately return my box to me, or I shall personally see to it that you --" This was all he had time to say before one of the turtle demons was right up close to him and holding a strange-looking metal weapon against his face.

"Go on," it said with an evil grin so wide that it was a wonder its face didn't split in two. "Finish that sentence! Gimme an excuse!"

"Enough." The rat demon spoke up, regarding Ardazhin calmly. "We have heard some very serious accusations against you, Ardazhin Tisroc..."

"Lies, all lies," Ardazhin protested. "Believe not a word of it! Has not the poet said _'listen not to the tales of slaves, for they come from a traitorous heart and are formed by a devious tongue'?_ Asheena is a liar and an ungrateful wench, and would love nothing more than to see me ruined and de-throned, lying in the gutter with the lowliest of the dogs -- I, who have been kindness itself to her! I, who have made her my wife and let her live in luxury in my palace --"

"Kindness itself!" Asheena interrupted, shaking her head. "Shall I tell them, o Ardazhin? Shall I tell them of all the things you commanded me to do while I was your slave? Shall I tell them of all those nights when you --"

_"Hold your tongue, woman!"_ Ardazhin shrieked in desperation.

"You would do better to hold yours," said the rat demon in a sharp, bidding tone. "My sons... what do you say about all this?"

"I'm with the genie," said the turtle demon with the metal weapon. "Guy's obviously scum. But then, I'm naturally biased against people who first give orders ta kill me, an' then make threats against my friends."

"Asheena's story has the advantage that, if you accept the existence of magic and genies, that it's logical," said the other turtle demon. "Or do you have a better explanation?" It turned to look at Ardazhin.

"Lies," said Ardazhin, realizing how pathetic that sounded, but not willing to give up. "Has not the poet said _'Fickle is the heart of the wife, and quickly does she turn to treason'?" _

"That's the worst explanation I've ever heard," said the demon, shaking its head. "Sorry, but if that's all you have, I think I'm gonna agree with Raph on this one."

"April?" said the rat demon calmly.

The barbarian woman looked at Ardazhin, long and hard. Then, she looked down at the box in her hands. "I believe her," was all she said. "Ardazhin Tisroc took a gift that was given to him and used it to steal what was never rightfully his. Is there any doubt of this, boys?"

At first, Ardazhin thought that she was talking to the demons, but then he realized that they weren't alone in the room. There, next to him, were his sons, all looking at him, but not with their usual love and adoration. Their faces were pictures or repulsion and shock, and he knew that the enchantments had been lifted off them and they were seeing him, for the first time for many of them, without having to love him.

At that very moment, Ardazhin knew, without a doubt, that he had been wrong all these years: The dark god Tash _very much disapproved_ of his unrightful seizing of the throne, and had not acted before because he had been biding his time. This was not about Narnian demons after all, it was simply about the god and his anger at Ardazhin.

The Tisroc fell silent, feeling the ice-cold hands of terror taking him in a firm hold and blurring his senses.

It was only through an icy fog of panic that he could make out the rat demon's next words: "Unfortunately, Ardazhin Tisroc, we are strangers in this country and as such have no right to pass judgment over you. Which is why we shall leave that part up to those you wronged, the ones you enchanted and enslaved. Pray they will be more merciful than we would have been..."

It looked like the time for cursing and weeping and damning the gods had arrived.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Ever since I started revising and posting _The Lion, the Cat and the Turtles_ to this site, I've known that this chapter would probably be the one most people had problems with. After all, Asheena is probably -- at least by Narnian standards -- the most controversial character in this entire story, and here I am dedicating an entire chapter to her story.

Why did I do this? Well -- this part of the story is an experiments of sorts, but one I'm hoping will pay off in the end. Asheena has a definite role to play in the story, part of which is an exploration of supernatural creatures who aren't openly followers of Aslan -- are they always evil, or is there a chance that they might turn out all right? Clearly Asheena is terrified of Aslan (and yes, she's right in assuming that she wouldn't have a chance against him), but she doesn't seem to actively hate him the way the canonical creatures of darkness do -- even if she is descended from one of them. We'll see what happens when/if the two actually meet face to face.

Of course, there is a danger that Asheena could become a _Deus Ex Machina_ in the story, but I'm doing all I can to avoid this.

You might argue that a Djinn isn't very Narnia-esque, but there have been mentions of Djinn in the original books, although they have never taken center stage -- with the exception of the White Witch, who was only half-Djinn anyway. (The book specifically describes her as half Djinn and half Giantess, which I suspect was why she was so powerful.)

But, when all is said and done, this isn't really Asheena's story (at least not outside this chapter), and just so you won't forget that this is a TMNT/Narnia story: Next chapter takes place in Narnia again, and contains the first meeting between Leonardo and the Red Lady!


	10. Meeting the Enemy

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE:  
Meeting the Enemy

* * *

**

"What do you mean, he left?" Moowin demanded, looking down at Portly.

"I mean he left," said Portly gazing near-sightedly up at her. "For Aslan's How, I think it was. Something about needing to find out... something. Dunno what it was, I didn't actually talk to him, but I heard it from Stoneclaw the Griffin."

They were standing outside Portly's house (well, _cave_ -- true to his nature as a Talking Beast, Portly wasn't much of a builder and preferred living underground in a self-dug cave he proudly called his _Sett). _Luckily, and unlike Glenstorm, the Badger had been home when Leo and Moorwin came to call on him, and even though they'd declined his offer of a late luncheon, he had been more than happy to take some time to talk to them.

"Sorry to hear that we missed him," said Leonardo. "We were hoping to ask his advice."

"Well, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, then." Portly shrugged apologetically. "But maybe I can help you. Not that I'm anywhere near old Glenstorm's league, of course, but I _am_ a Badger, and I know a thing or two about a thing or two."

Moorwin nodded, trying not to look to disappointed. It wasn't that she didn't like Portly, it was just that... well, even taking his many fine qualities into account, he was still a pretty poor substitute for her Grandfather when it came to advice. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and who knew -- maybe Portly did have something interesting to say.

"You wanted to know about Werewolf rumors?" he said, scratching his ear and sitting down on the ground. "They've been all over the forest. Second biggest talk of the week, if I'm any judge."

"And the _biggest_ talk of the week would be...?" said Leo.

"That'd be _you,_ of course," said Portly. "Werewolves are rare enough, but you're the first Newyorker we've seen here."

"Right," said Leo, looking a little uncomfortable. "Let's concentrate on the Werewolves for now. Did any of these rumors say where they were headed?"

"Of course," Portly replied. "Far as I heard, they were headed to the southwest, to the mountains at the Archenland border."

"But there are no Werewolves in Archenland," said Moorwin. "At least I've never heard of it -- and Archenland is a small country with mostly mountain terrains and open plains. Invisibility spells or no, it would be near-impossible for any number of Werewolves to stay there without anyone knowing about them."

"And beyond Archenland is a desert, right?" said Leo. "I remember that much from the map. And beyond the desert, the kingdom of... Calormen?"

"Neither place being ideal Werewolf territory," said Moorwin. "The desert is unlivable for all but a few, and as for Calormen..." She shook her head. "It's true that Narnia and Calormen haven't been at open war for over a thousand years, but the Calormenese strongly distrust any Narnian creatures."

"Foul sorcerers and demons, they call us," said Portly cheerfully. "No Werewolf would last long in Calormen; he'd have the soldiers of the Tarkaans and maybe even the Tashbaan City Watch after him the moment he set foot in the country. Maybe he'd last longer if he was in_vis_ible, but I can't see why he'd go through all that trouble when it's much easier to hide in Narnia anyway."

"In that case," said Leo with a sense of finality, "I think we can safely assume that they're still here in Narnia somewhere. Possibly close to the mountains, if the rumors are true."

"I never heard tell of a Dryad telling anything but the truth," said Portly.

"What about this Red Lady?" said Moorwin. "Has anyone heard anything about her?"

"Not to my knowledge. Still, there might be one or two folks out there I haven't talked to in a while, of course, that might know something."

"Well..." Leo seemed to think about it for a moment or two. "Best to cover all bases. Would you mind terribly going to have a talk with these friends of yours now? It's very important that we find this Red Lady. Business of the King."

"Why, anything for the good King Rilian, of course," Portly exclaimed, raising himself. "I'll get right on it. Care to come along?"

"I would..."Leo began, but then another expression crossed his face, and he looked around, as if scouting for something he couldn't see. "In fact," he said in a completely different voice, "I think it'd be quicker if you went on about it alone. In the meantime Moorwin and I will investigate the southwestern part of the woods. We'll cover more ground that way."

Portly blinked. "Well, if you're quite sure..."

"I am. Thank you for doing this, Portly," said Leo hurriedly. "The King will no doubt appreciate it, as do we."

Moorwin was about to ask him what in the world he meant with this sudden dismissing of Portly's suggestion, but then she recognized the look on his face. It was the same look as the one he'd had several days ago, when he had first sensed the invisible presence of the Werewolves.

"I think this is a very good idea, Portly," she said, hoping that her voice didn't reveal her sudden nervousness. Portly, like all Badgers, could be fiendishly difficult to fool, but if she had interpreted Leo's expression correctly, it would probably be for the better for him if he went off away from them.

"Well," said Portly after a moment's hesitation, "I suppose there's no point in sitting around here if you're in such a hurry." He raised himself. "When should we meet again?"

"Let's say, in three hours?" said Leo, getting to his feet again. "You think you can find your friends in that time?"

"Of course, no problem."

Moorwin looked at Leo as they both walked away from Portly's house, desperate to ask him what it was he had noticed, but he just held a hand up and shook his head. "You can go with Portly if you want," he said in a low voice, almost without moving his mouth. "You don't have to come along for this."

"Yes, I do," she answered. And that was the end of that discussion.

Leo looked around to make sure Portly had gone, and then took a few more steps along the path. "All right," he called out to the air. "I know you're there! Show yourself!"

For a few moments, everything was silent. But then, there was a rustling in the trees in front of them, and the air seemed to shimmer much like it had a few days ago, and slowly the formerly invisible shape was fading into sight. Moorwin didn't need many seconds to determine that the shape belonged to a Werewolf --or to determine that the werewolf was the same one from, the apparent leader of the pack that had been heading for Cair Paravel.

"Most impressive, green creature," said the Werewolf. "This is the second time you have seen through the Red Lady's spells. What _is_ your secret?"

"My secrets are my own," Leo growled, drawing both his swords. "What do you want? How long have you been spying on us?"

"Not long," said the Werewolf. "As for your first question, I am here to make a suggestion."

"If this suggestion is anything like the one you had for King Rilian," said Leo, "forget it. You tell this Red Lady of yours that --"

"That is just the suggestion," said the Werewolf calmly. "You want to meet the Red Lady, do you not? She is very eager to meet you as well. I can take you to her -- both of you."

Leo's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. "And how do we know this isn't a trap? You don't expect us to simply trust your open, honest face, do you?"

"Now that you mention it," said the Werewolf, "not particularly. But I would like to call your attention to the fact that you are surrounded." And with that, more shapes came out from the forest, all around them -- Werewolves, twenty of them, flocking around Moorwin and Leo in a wide circle.

Both Turtle and Centauress immediately tensed, poising their bodies for battle, but instead of attacking the Wolves tightened the circle around them, cutting off any escape routes, as their leader spoke again: "I will ask you once more, politely, to come with me. You may be a great warrior, green creature, but you could not fight against all of us."

Leo paused. "All right," he said, but without sheathing his swords. "You win. I'll come along willingly. But," he added, his voice defiant, "Moorwin stays here. She doesn't have anything to do with this."

Before Moorwin could decide whether to feel insulted or honored that Leo was trying to negotiate with the werewolves on her behalf, the leader closed the negotiations. "The centaur comes with us," he snarled. "Or she dies. Your choice."

"You'd be amazed at how many of you I could manage to kill if you so much as hurt a hair on her head."

"If you did, your life would be forfeit. The Red Lady may want to talk to you, but I still owe you for killing two of my brethren, creature."

"Hold it!" said Moorwin. "Leonardo, I will come with you. I knew when I agreed to be your companion that there would be risks, and I'm not about to leave you behind in the face of danger."

"Such loyalty," said the werewolf dryly. "How very touching. Now -- no more talking. We'll go to see the Red Lady, and if you both do exactly as you're told, you might get to live."

* * *

But if the Werewolves hadn't been so completely focused on Leonardo, they might have noticed a black, white and gray shape hiding underneath a nearby bush and following the conversation with great interest.

As Portly would often point out, and not without a certain pride, while Badgers may not be the biggest, strongest, swiftest -- or even smartest -- of all the woodland creatures, they _were_ among the most steadfast and hardest to deceive. And _this_ Badger had at once picked up that something was off about Leo and Moorwin's sudden insistence on splitting up. Given that he had personally experienced Leo's ability to see and hear what other people couldn't, Portly had surmised that there was someone else nearby that weren't supposed to be there and didn't want to be seen.

It wasn't that Portly thought that the Turtle and Centauress couldn't take care of themselves, but the situation had worried him enough that he decided to keep an eye on them for a little while. Since all Badgers' dens had many entrances and Portly's _Sett_ was no exception to this rule, it had been an easy matter to pretend to go off in search of his friends, but instead double back and enter the _Sett_ through one of the side-entrances and following the sound of Leo's and Moorwin's footsteps from underground (Badgers have excellent hearing and the footsteps of a Centaur are easily identified) through his many tunnels.

As luck would have it, they hadn't gone off too far before the invisible foes apparently revealed themselves, and voices were heard from above ground. As even further luck would have it, another of Portly's entrances was located pretty close to where they had stopped, and the badger had managed to sneak out and hide underneath that bush just in time to see the hags and the werewolves surround his two friends.

Of course, there wasn't much one Badger could do against twenty Werewolves, but Portly _could_ follow the conversation and make a few choice decisions based on the information it gave him.

* * *

They hadn't walked very far before they reached a larger clearing in the forest -- Moorwin at once recognized it as one of the many clearings where the Fauns used to dance with the Dryads on moonlit nights. She'd often come here in the past to watch them and enjoy the music and merriment, because it was impossible to stay in a bad mood around a group of Fauns.

At the moment, however, there were no Fauns or Dryads to be seen, and precious little music and merriment.

Instead, in a half-circle in the middle of the clearing stood ten old women, all of whom could have passed for human if they hadn't looked so extremely ugly and shrivelled -- and in the center of this circle, in a stark contrast to their ugliness stood what was probably the most beautiful woman Moorwin had ever seen -- tall, dark-haired and clad in a magnificent form-hugging dress. To complete the image, a large ruby hung from a golden necklace, shining brilliantly as it rested on the woman's breast.

As the Werewolves drove Leonardo and Moorwin closer, the woman's beautiful face broke into a sweet smile.

"Ooooh, hello," she cooed, in a voice that sounded both melodious and lovely -- and more than a little childish. "How nice to see that you could make it!"

"Your friends didn't exactly give us a lot of choice," said Leo, looking at her and not seeming very impressed with her beauty. "You're the Red Lady, I presume."

"Who else could I be? Who else could possibly be so beautiful?" said the woman, winking coquettishly and twirling around in a circle, as if wanting them to get a good look at her. "Oh, and these are my loyal and charming Hags. Try not to look too hard at them, you might go blind from their ugliness." (One of the Hags shot the Red Lady a murderous glance, but the Lady didn't even seem to notice.) "And of course, you know the Werewolves. There, I've introduced everyone. Please don't think me rude if I don't offer you anything to drink. No-one has wanted to drink with a Witch for more than a thousand years, so I don't bother to ask anymore."

"I'm honored," said Leo dryly.

"You should be. This is the first time in centuries I have chosen to talk so openly to any of the King's subjects. But you intrigue me, green creature, I'll honestly admit that." The Red Lady lent forward to look more closely at him. "Who _are_ you? I've never seen such a creature as you before."

"My name is Leonardo. Anything else is unimportant."

"Oh, is that all you have to say?" The Red Lady pouted cutely, and childishly. "How very mean of you. And what a dreadful name. _Leonardo_. Whoever gave you such a dreary and ugly-sounding name? I trust they were justly punished?"

Leo frowned. "You are, of course, free to judge my name in any way you see fit. But I'm not telling you anything else."

"Oh, I rather think you'll be telling me quite a few things more," said the Red Lady. "Werewolves, kill the Centaur."

In one swift move, Leo had drawn his swords again and stepped up in front of Moorwin. "I welcome you," he said with a slight growl in his voice, "to try. She is my companion, and anyone who so much as comes near her loses their head."

"And I will fight with hooves and hands as long as I draw breath," said Moorwin, glaring at the Werewolves who were trying to sneak up from behind. "I swear by the Lion's mane that the first one to come close enough, dies!"

Leo smiled at her and moved slightly to the side, as if he'd decided to give her more room to kick if she should need it. "So, how many Werewolves can you afford to lose, Lady?" he said. "I'm betting those hooves could crush a few of them before they managed to overpower her. That is, the ones who don't feel the sting of my katana first!"

The Werewolves hesitated.

"Oh, this isn't _fair," _said the Red Lady, her melodious voice turning into a whine. "Why can't you just play along? Why do you have to make everything so difficult? All right, Werewolves, _don't_ kill the Centaur. See if I care."

Moorwin stared. If this Lady was really a Witch, and the same kind as the White Witch of old and the Lady in Green from the King's stories, she certainly didn't act like any of them.

"I was hoping to at least get some fun out of you first," said the Red Lady with a sigh. "But since you're going to be difficult, I'll just skip directly to the plan. But I must say you disappoint me, Leonardo. Allowing a _lady_ to fend for herself in battle? Have you no proper views on women fighting?"

"Of course I do," said Leo. "I expect them to be good at it."

All of a sudden, a few things about Leonardo made somewhat more sense to Moorwin. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to ponder this further, because now the Red Lady turned her eyes on her... and smiled, widely and wickedly, as she grabbed and clutched the ruby on her necklace.

_This doesn't look good..._ was all Moorwin had the time to think before the unmistakable feel of magic filled the air around her and washed away all her thoughts.

When Moorwin turned to face Leonardo again, it was with an oddly blank look on her face. Without a word, she raised herself up on two legs, her front legs kicking wildly out at him.

Completely unprepared for this, Leo had _just_ time to twist aside enough to avoid the main brunt of the powerful kick, but the grazing of the hoof against his cheek was easily as hard as a full-fledged punch to the face from anyone else. His cheek exploded in pain, and he twirled around, landing on his back in the grass.

His vision cleared just in time to see Moorwin rise to her hind legs again and coming down upon him in an even more powerful stomp.

If he had been just a tiny bit slower, his head would most likely have been crushed -- but Leo had fought for his life more than once. He rolled out of the way just as her hooves came crashing down, being back on his feet again long before she could raise up again for another stomp.

_I think I lost a tooth,_ he thought fleetingly before having to jump out of the way of another powerful kick from the centauress's hind legs.

"Moorwin! Quit that! What are you doing?" he yelled.

"Merely what I am ordering her to," said the Red Lady with a voice filled with glee, as she clutched her ruby, and Moorwin launched out with another kick. "Hypnosis, my dear Leonardo. One of the oldest forms of magic. Though I see _you_ remain sadly unaffected. I had expected it, since you can see through my spells, but still... it would have been _so_ much fun to have you two kill each other."

Leo jumped out of the way again, drawing his swords. "Moorwin! Snap out of it!"

There were some chuckles from some of the Werewolves, who were still, along with the Hags, gathered around them in a circle and would make it very hard for Leo to get too far out of the way of Moorwin. Leo's mind worked at full speed as he once again dodged the Centauress's kick: _She's stronger than me, and faster, and since she's hypnotized, she's not afraid of getting hurt herself. I'm more agile than her, but I can't dodge her forever, and I don't want to hurt her... only one thing left to do then! _

Leo jumped out of the way of another of Moorwin's charges, and at top speed, he charged at the Red Lady with drawn swords.

Just as he'd expected, she instinctively took a step back from him as his swords slashed in the air in front of her, cutting over the thin golden necklace that her ruby hung on, and with a quick flick of the sword, the red gem was sent flying.

The Hag and the Werewolf on each side of the Red Lady were already halfway on the move to grab Leo, but he darted out of the way just in time to avoid them, coming to a halt just next to Moorwin.

Just as he had expected, the Centauress had stopped trying to attack him, and was now simply standing there with limp arms, staring blankly at the world.

The reasoning had been simple: He couldn't hurt Moorwin, so the simplest way of dealing with the situation was to remove the influence over her -- and any fool could have seen that the influence was in the red gem.

"No!" the Red Lady shrieked. "Stay away from the ruby! None may touch my ruby!"

For a millisecond, Leo thought she was talking to him, but then he saw that one of the Hags was running over to the ruby that was now lying in the grass a few feet away and reaching out to grab it.

Whether the Hag had wanted the ruby for herself or was just seeking to bring it to the Red Lady, Leo never found out, because the moment her hand touched the stone, she burst into flame. With a horrible scream, she rose up and stumbled to her knees as the fire engulfed her completely.

Leo spent five precious seconds gawking at this unexpected sight, but then managed to come back to himself and turned to Moorwin instead, hissing: "Snap out of it! We've gotta get out of here _now_ before anyone gets their act together!"

Moorwin blinked, the blankness vanishing from her face. "What --" she began in an uncertain voice.

"No time!" Leo hissed, hoping that the screams of the burning hag would drown out his voice to everyone but her. "Just come on!" He didn't like running out on a foe like this, but something told him that directly attacking someone who could take over your mind with a mere gesture would be a bad idea.

And then, out of the blue, three Werewolves, all in their wolf shapes, sprang at him at once. One of them immediately fell back after the blow Leo had time to deal out with his sword, but the two others were on him and toppled him to the ground. For a horrible moment, everything was a blur of fur and claws and teeth, but all of a sudden both Wolves flew off him, having been on the receiving end of two powerful kicks from Moorwin.

"Get up!" she yelled, looking fully alert and aware again as she rose up on two legs to trample a fourth Werewolf ready for the attack.

Leo rolled to his feet and had just about enough time to slash at a fifth Werewolf who was coming at him, jumping over a sixth and sending it colliding with a seventh. Almost all the Werewolves were in a battle frenzy by now; Leo recognized the wild and manic gleam in their eyes and knew that they were consumed by their own bloodlust at this point, completely unable to stop themselves even if they had wanted to. They all charged at Leo and Moorwin all at once, ignoring the barked orders of their leader, the cries of the Red Lady and the shrieks of the still-burning hag.

Fangs and claws were tearing at them, and though Leo braced himself and slashed at them all with his swords, he was soon overpowered and forced to the ground again, only vaguely aware that the same was happening to Moorwin beside him.

But then, a cacophony of new voices, roars and yells and shrieks, mixed in with everything else, and the weight of the werewolves was suddenly lifted off him as, of all things, a _bear_ stood over him, roaring loudly and swatting away four werewolves at once, as if they were flies.

Quickly getting to his feet, Leo saw that the entire clearing was now swarming with animals and woodland creatures: Bears and Centaurs and Boars and Foxes and Fauns and Centaurs and Dwarfs and Hedgehogs and Apes and Cheetahs and Unicorns and Squirrels and even a large Griffin, all attacking the Werewolves and Hags with loud battle cries.

And in the middle of it all, Portly, standing on two legs and shaking his front paws in the air as he shouted: "For the King and the Lion!"

From there, the battle quickly turned tides, as there seemed to be no end to the woodland creatures. Unicorns and Boars charged at the hangs with lowered horns and tusks, Dwarfs and Fauns went at werewolves with swords and axes, Bears rose on two legs and felled enemies left and right with slow, but immensely powerful blows with their front paws.

The attack was so sudden, and so unexpectedly forceful that only minutes later, the Red Lady's crew had vanished completely -- though whether it was by magic or simply by running, Leo never found out -- leaving behind only a couple of dead Werewolves and a badly-burned Hag.

A huge cheer rose up between the creatures, a couple of Squirrels running around and chattering excitedly: "We won, we won, we won! Is anyone hurt? The Green Creature is bleeding, look!"

Leo was about to say that he was okay, but before he could even open his mouth, he found himself crowded by friendly, if somewhat overwhelming creatures: "Support him -- No, let him lie down! -- Are you hurt? -- Those Werewolves are brutes! -- anyone here know how to properly tend to a wound? -- Don't look at me, I don't even have any hands!"

"If you would just give me some space!" Leo said, managing to sit up despite at least three creatures trying to get him to lie down. "Thank you, but I'm fine...!"

And he discovered, to his relief, that he was. He'd had a few bites and scratches, and a couple of wounds were bleeding, but they were minor -- it seemed the Werewolves hadn't had the time to dish out any more lasting damage before they were driven away. He ran his tongue over his teeth to check if he still had all of them intact, and was relieved to find that he'd been wrong when he'd thought earlier that he'd lost a tooth -- they were all still there, even though (and the relief dampened a little upon this discovery) one of his side teeth seemed to have gotten rather badly chipped when Moorwin had kicked him. _Great. And it's not as if a Turtle can afford dental surgery..._

"Moorwin," he remembered, forgetting his tooth for now and turning to her. "Are you okay?"

"As well as can be expected, thank you," she grumbled, straightening herself. She was, like Leo, bleeding from a few wounds, but luckily seemed no worse for the wear. "I don't remember much from after that Red Lady enchanted me, but... Other than that, I'm fine. A few scratches and bites, nothing serious."

"Scratches and..." Something in Leo's mind clicked as his feeble knowledge on werewolves (mostly acquired through watching of horror movies with his brothers when he was a little younger) kicked in. "They bit you? They bit_ us?"_

Moorwin nodded, wincing a little. "A Wolf's primary weapon _is_ his teeth, after all..."

"The wounds will heal," said an older-looking Centaur, looking at their wounds with an expert gaze. "They are little more than scratches. You were indeed fortunate, Moorwin. Aslan himself must have watched over you for you to escape in such a good condition... even if you were more than a little foolish going to meet this Red Lady alone."

"Yes, Uncle," said Moorwin, looking sheepish.

_But I thought that if a werewolf bit you, you became a werewolf yourself,_ Leo thought feebly, but watching the expressions of all the others there, he felt less certain. These Narnians would know more about werewolves than he did, and if the tales of lycantropy had been true, they wouldn't have looked so relieved that Leo and Moorwin had escaped with a few bites.

Just to make sure, though, he asked the older Centaur (who seemed to know about such things): "You don't happen to know if werewolf bites are, uh, poisonous or anything like that, do you?"

"Poisonous?" This comment drew up a bit of laughter from several of the Narnians.

"I think you've got Werewolves confused with _snakes_!" one of the Fauns called out.

"I told you he was a good chap," said Portly from the edge of the crowd, chuckling. "I say, you've got to respect a person who can still make jokes after having nearly been mauled by Werewolves."

_All right, the tales of lycantropy are definitely not true,_ Leo decided, turning to the Badger. "You've got to respect a person who can drum together a small army on such short notice as well," he said. "I'm guessing it was you who got all these guys here?"

"Of course it was!" Portly replied smugly. "I saw the Werewolves taking the two of you off, so I ran to get a few friends. Got here just in time too, by the looks of it -- that lady, she must've been this Red Lady that you told me about, I take it?"

"Sure seems that way," said Leo, getting to his feet. His wounds stung as he did so, but all in all, he'd had worse battle wounds. "Anyone see where she went? Or the others?"

The reply came in the form of shakings of heads, mutterings of "no," "sorry," and "'fraid I wasn't looking."

Leo thought about sighing, but decided against it. Instead, he just looked around at the Narnians and said. "All right. They can't be far away, and it seems like we've got strength in numbers. I suggest we go find them now, before they can plan a counterattack."

Moorwin looked up from the scratch she had been nursing. "I would suggest caution. You saw how easily the Red Lady enchanted me. I think she could do it to any of us if she wanted."

"There is that," Leo admitted, "but I don't think she could do it to all of us at once." _And for some reason, her hocus-pocus doesn't seem to work on me,_ he added silently. "Better to act now than lose the opportunity."

Moorwin nodded with a steely resolve in her eyes. "For Aslan and the King, then!" she said, raising her voice. "Who is with us? Who will join us in ridding Narnia of the Witch?"

Leo was certain that the resulting cheer from the Narnians could be heard for miles around.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

**

**Author's notes:** Yeah, it's getting slightly(!) longer between updates now, but this is where the heavier revising and re-writing is taking place, so naturally it'll take more time... not to mention that I've got other things to do besides writing fanfic.

On a note that one reviewer brought up, and that was touched upon in this chapter: There is nothing to suggest that Narnian Werewolves are lycantropy carriers -- in fact, looking at the one identified Narnian Werewolf (the one with the memorable "I am hunger, I am thirst" speech from _Prince Caspian_), it's pretty clear that they aren't, since Caspian was bitten and didn't turn into a Werewolf himself. Neither is their change from man to wolf triggered by the full moon -- and as stated earlier, they can be killed by other means than silver -- so most of the traditional werewolf lore wouldn't fit with them anyway. I don't blame Leo for being on his guard there, though... he didn't know.


	11. The Flying Litter

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

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**CHAPTER TEN:  
The Flying Litter**

**

* * *

**

Tashbaan, the capital city of Calormen, has been described as "one of the wonders of the world." Opinions vary on this, but surrounded as it is by the great river that washes the mighty city gates, and filled as it is with magnificent palaces and gardens, Tashbaan is certainly one of the _grandest_ cities of that world, and visitors and newcomers are often overwhelmed by its splendor.

At least, they are when they see it from a distance. It's slightly different when they actually _enter_ it, because - particularly in the lower parts of the city, far away from the palace of the Tisroc and the temple of Tash - Tashbaan is also without comparison the most crowded, noisiest, smelliest place in all of Calormen.

Here, the cries of water-sellers, merchants and beggars mix with the barking of dogs, whinnying of horses and cries of _"Way, way, way for the Tarkaan"_ or _"Way, way, way for the Seventh Vizier"_ - for in Tashbaan there is only one traffic rule, namely that everyone has to yield for those who are more important than them. Which is all well and good if you're a Tarkaan or an Ambassador or anything like that, but if you're a commoner, a poor man or a humble merchant, it can get tiresome to constantly get out of the way and press yourself against house walls in the narrowest streets just because a huge procession carrying a Tarkeena is going past. And of course, complaining doesn't help at all, unless you think it helps to receive sharp jabs from the blunt end of a spear.

Still, the Calormenes love their capital city and wouldn't want it any other way.

And for hundreds, even thousands of years, it has remained one of the true unchangeables of the world. No matter what may happen to the nobles and Tisrocs of Calormen, the ones who think themselves so important, Tashbaan life is unstoppable - even if a Tisroc should die or, say, incidentally get revealed as a usurper and fake, it's hardly enough to stop the daily lives of the commoners in the city for very long. The Tisroc may be gone, but there are still families to be fed, horses to be shod, slaves to be ordered around, gardens to be tended, food to be grown, wares to be sold and bought.

And this day, as any other day, all these things were happening in abounds in Tashbaan, the current happenings of the Palace of the Tisroc, which were to play such an important role in Calormen history, never even realized by the common man in the street at the time.

Neither was the fact that high above them, at this very moment, a huge litter, of the very type that the Tisroc himself used to travel in whenever he left his palace, was flying through the air - not carried by slaves, as is the usual way for litters like that to be moved forward, but flying like a bird, seemingly under its own power. It was a sight that would have shocked and confused the citizens of Tashbaan, if any of them had looked up during the very short time it took for the fast-moving litter to fly over the city.

As it was, the only one who saw the strange sight was a captain of the City Watch, who had just taken a break from his demanding duties with a few glasses of wine down at an inn, and who upon seeing the flying litter immediately went to dunk his head in cold water and swear to himself, by the gods and the sun and the moon and the stars, that he would never drink on the job again.

(The resolve lasted one week, after which he once again got blind drunk and fell asleep on the job, but that doesn't really have anything to do with this story.)

On the roof of the flying litter, invisible even to the drunk captain, a dark-skinned Djinn sat cross-legged, starting fixedly ahead as they flew - and inside, in between a myriad of soft pillows, a woman, a Rat and two Turtles were making themselves as comfortable as they could.

"Y'know," said Raphael, leaning back amongst the pillows. "When that genie said she'd provide us with transportation, I was certain it'd be a flyin' _carpet."_

"Well," said Donatello thoughtfully, "probably a carpet wouldn't be as convenient as this. It'd probably be cold, and windy, and much easier to fall off, especially if it was going as fast as we seem to be doing now." He glanced out the side entrance, where the curtains were whipping in the wind. "Funny how you never think about those details when you hear the stories. You think Asheena's all right up there?"

"I think so, Donatello," said Splinter. "From what I surmise, you cannot hold a Djinn to the same physical laws as everyone else."

"Yeah." April toyed with the wooden box, still in her hand. "I have to say, I'm not crazy about this _'Slave-Djinn'_ business, though. The fact that she _has_ to obey every whim of whoever carries this box..."

"Not exactly a cheerful prospect," Don agreed. "And from what she said, that trick of 'wishing her free', like in that movie, won't work..."

"No?"

"Unbreakable curse, remember? But... you know, there is another, very simple solution to it. You see -" Don was interrupted here by Asheena, who appeared next to them in a puff of red smoke.

"We are now over the desert," she announced. "Oh, I do beg your pardon," she added as the Turtle started coughing, having inhaled some of the smoke. "Here." She snapped her fingers and handed the suddenly-materialized goblet over to him, as the smoke cleared and vanished far quicker than any amount of smoke, however small, has any right to.

Don sipped from the goblet and cleared his throat a little before looking at his drink in what looked like pleasant surprise. "Not bad," he said. "What is it?"

"Diamond juice," said Asheena. "It is very rare, from the deep underground kingdom of Bism. Ardazhin was very partial to it."

_"Diamond juice? _Why's it called that?"

"Because it is squeezed from diamonds, of course."

Don opened his mouth, shut it again, then opened it again. "Ask a silly question..." he muttered.

"Not ta be rude or anything," Raph interrupted, looking at Asheena, "but if you're in here, who's drivin' this thing?"

"No-one. I have enchanted the litter to take us straight to where your brother is, and so it will." Asheena smiled. "And so, we shall cross the desert and enter Narnia in _style!_ True, we have no carriers, or guards, or criers, or dancing slave girls to accompany us, but who needs those things when we are soaring through the air, faster than any eagle could fly?"

"And you're certain it'll take us to Leo?"

"Absolutely. We know that he is here in this world, and unless I am much mistaken, there are not too many of your kind even in Narnia - so all I needed to do was set a basic tracking spell." Asheena made a sweeping gesture with her hands. "Please, relax! We shall have crossed the desert in an hour or so, and after that, Archenland will take less than half that time, and then - Narnia!"

"Not very far, is it?" said Donatello, having decided to take another sip of the alleged diamond juice.

"No more than a few days' travel away, even for those who travel by slower means than we do now," said Asheena. "Over the desert, and as the horse runs, two or three days - four, at the most. The countries are closer than most Calormenes think."

"I did wonder about that." Don looked at her curiously. "If the lands are so close to one another, then how come the climates are so different as you say they are? If I understand you correctly, Narnia and Archenland have a much colder climate, even with snow in the winter... and all that separates the two is this desert? How does that work?"

"I would not know," said Asheena, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "There is an old story, though, that claims that the desert was created back when this world was still young, during this world's first and only open battle between Tash and Alan. The story goes that the two fought, without pause, for three days and three nights... who came out of the fight as the victor depends whether you ask a Narnian or a Calormenese, though."

"The Calormenes say that Tash sent Aslan packing, and the Narnians claim that Aslan kicked Tash's keister?" said Raphael with a smirk.

"More or less," said Asheena. "The area where they had fought, though, had been completely destroyed... thereby creating the very desert we are flying over now; vast and lifeless. Such is the power of Aslan... and of Tash." She smiled. "Of course, the Narnians go on to say that Aslan returned afterwards and created the great oasis in the middle of the desert... a place of lush greens, fresh water and sweet fruits. To remind people that hope springs eternal and even in places of death you may find life."

"Very poetic," said Raph. "Is that story even true?"

Asheena shrugged. "Who knows? But they say that the Tombs of the Ancient Kings, which we left behind a while ago, were raised at the edge of the desert for all those who fell in that battle. The people of Tashbaan still swear that the Tombs are haunted to this very day, and do not go near them if they can help it."

"Yet they built their city within walking distance from them," said Splinter, sounding somewhat amused.

"I believe that was mostly for keeping an eye on the ghouls, should they ever get it into their heads to leave the Tombs," said Asheena. "As far as I know, this has not happened yet. O highly esteemed Tashbaan, wonder of the world," she added, almost to herself. "Tashbaan of the white walls, the lemon trees and the crowded streets. Tashbaan of the thousand stories, the ten thousand lies and the hundred thousand superstitions. Though my life within your walls was slavery, I shall miss you greatly."

"Asheena," said April, looking a little guilty. "You don't have to say goodbye to your home forever. There's nothing to stop you from returning here afterwards - I mean, after you've helped us find Leonardo and gotten us back to our own world, you could easily..."

"You are most generous," said Asheena. "But I will go where my Mistress goes. Should your path lead to another world, then so shall mine. Besides," she added, "I doubt I'll be welcome in Tashbaan for the future, now that the entire story with my magic having enchanted everyone into accepting Ardazhin as Tisroc is out."

"But you weren't doing it of your own free will," said April. "Doesn't that count for something?"

Asheena shook her head. "Whether I did it willingly or not is beside the point. I still _did_ it. My fellow wives, the slaves, the sons and daughters... they will want nothing more to do with me. To them, I shall forever remain the Djinn who robbed them of their free will." For a moment, there was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, but then she pulled herself together. "But let us not think of that now. Ardazhin has been removed from the throne, and hopefully whoever they chose as his successor will rule Calormen wisely... that would make up for at least some of it."

"It is in their hands now," said Splinter calmly. "We had no right to make that decision for them."

"Very true," said Asheena. "But," she added, changing the subject, "that was not why I came down here in the first place. We still have an hour's journey or so ahead of us, so... is anyone hungry? I can provide you with any food or drink you may desire!"

Raph grinned. "Any chance a' some pizza?"

* * *

All in all, despite the very strange circumstances, it was a very pleasant trip; not unlike how Donatello had always imagined it must be to fly First Class on a plane - just minus the seat belts and the roar of the engines. Oh, and Asheena's outfit would probably not have been found on your average airline stewardesses, even in the more relaxed planes.

After a very nice meal; food that Asheena conjured up from thin air but still tasted exactly like normal food - even the pizza Raph had wanted had, after a few false starts (because Asheena hadn't known what a pizza was and needed a fair bit of description), turned out pretty good - they told the genie their full story, a story she took great interest in, claiming that she had never heard of any place like New York. Every so often, when there was a natural break in the story, she would poof away to the roof of the litter and stay there for a minute or two, and then return with the report that they were still going in the right direction.

But the fourth time, she returned with a bit of a frown on her face.

"This is extremely odd," she said.

"What is?" Don asked, beginning to feel a little anxious.

"If you take a look down, you will see that at present, we have left the desert and are flying above the sea," said Asheena. "And this puzzles me. We were going over the desert. We shouldn't have gone anywhere _near_ the sea."

"So what you're saying is that we're going the wrong way?" Don's feeling of anxiety increased. Was it really, when everything was said and done, a good idea to trust too much to magic?

"The tracking spells confirm that we are indeed going to your brother," said Asheena. "But it seems as though he has left Narnia for some reason... or perhaps... oh, no, that would be the explanation," she suddenly said, her frown vanishing.

"What?" April, Raph and Don chorused.

"He must be located at the Lone Islands! They are part of Narnia, and still pay tribute to the Narnian throne, even if they are located much further East!" Asheena smiled. "I was a little worried for a moment there. Still, if we are headed for the Lone Islands, I think we had better increase our speed, lest the journey should take days!"

"Are you sure about this?" said Don. "I mean, yes, I suppose it's possible that Leo is at these Lone Islands, since nobody said exactly where in Narnia he was supposed to be, but... you're absolutely certain we're not just being led on a wild goose chase here?"

"As certain as I am of anything," said Asheena. "May my Mistress chose a suitable punishment for me if I am lying."

"Um, that won't be necessary," April hurried to say. "Take it easy, Don. I'm sure we're on the right track."

Don, however, couldn't help but feel that something was off. Exchanging glances with Splinter after Asheena had vanished up on the roof to keep lookout again, he could see that the old rat had his doubts as well. "What do you say, Master Splinter?" he asked.

"I am not certain, Donatello. I do not think Asheena is trying to deceive us, neither do I think the magic is defective. But there is something that does not feel quite right about this."

"Yer sayin' that we _are_ on a wild goose chase, Master Splinter?" Raphael shot in, frowning.

Splinter thought. "No," he finally said. "I do not think we are. Still, since it appears we will be sitting here for somewhat longer than we anticipated, I believe I will attempt meditating upon it. I feel as though there is something here we are missing... perhaps I can sort it out."

A silence rose among the other three as he sat up, cross-legged, and closed his eyes.

After a while, Asheena reappeared, looking even more puzzled than before. "I do not wish to alarm you," she said, "but..." she paused, looking at the still Splinter. "Pardon my ignorance, but what is he doing?"

"Meditating," said April. "Don't worry about it, just keep your voice down. What was it you wanted to say?"

"Well, Mistress," said Asheena, dropping her voice to a near-whisper, "I just wanted to say that we have just passed the Lone Islands. The tracking spell says that your companion, your brother, is further Eastwards still."

Raph and Don exchanged glances.

"What comes after the Lone Islands?" said Don. "Any more Narnian land?"

Asheena frowned. "There are islands and lands beyond even the Lone Islands," she said, "but most of them are uninhabited, and I do not think any of them are actually under Narnia." She shook her head. "If this continues, we shall end up in Aslan's country."

"Is that good or bad?" said Don.

"That does depend on how you view it," said Asheena. "As I told you earlier, Aslan's country is said to be a wondrous place, but none who entered it ever returned - at least, none that I ever heard of."

"So now Leo's in a place that nobody ever returned from?" said Raph. "This just keeps gettin' better and better, don't it?"

"Michelangelo..." Splinter opened his eyes.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"That is what felt off," he said in a quiet voice. "The tracking spell is not leading us to Leonardo, it is leading us to Michelangelo."

"Ya mean _Mike's_ in this world too?" said Raph. "I thought he stayed behind in ours! What's he doin' out at sea?"

"That, I cannot say," said Splinter, turning his head to look at Asheena, who seemed as confused and flustered as the rest.

"I - I have no explanation," said the Djinn nervously. "I thought... I enchanted this litter to fly directly to the nearest, how do you say, Ninja Turtle. That _should_ have been your brother in Narnia."

"Is it possible that your magic may have failed?" said Splinter, worry etched on his face.

"I suppose it could have." Asheena looked miserable. "Perhaps Narnia can't be reached by my magic. I am a Djinn, after all. Perhaps Aslan has decided once and for all that he does not want my kind in Narnia."

"But he wanted _us_ to - I'm gettin' a headache," Raph moaned. "If I ever meet that Lion, I'm gonna ask 'im where he keeps his brains. For someone who wants ta help, he sure ain't bein' very helpful. So what do we do now?"

For a moment, Splinter looked torn between the options. Then he sighed, getting a look of steely resolve in his eyes. "We will keep going. There is a possibility that the spell is leading us to Michelangelo because Michelangelo needs us the most."

"And Leo...?" said April.

Splinter's expression was worried and sorrowful, but determined. "We shall have to pray that he can manage without us for a while longer."

* * *

In another time and place, several leagues to the East of both Narnia and Calormen, a talking Mouse was leading an old woman and a mutant Turtle (with a small cat perching on his shoulder) down a gentle hill and towards a sandy shore where brilliant, glittering blue waves were gently washing the land.

It was, Michelangelo thought, beautiful - as if taken straight out of some exotic travel program where the host talks at length about how peaceful and serene the world is.

He noted to himself as they walked, that while everything was very silent, and the path Reepicheep was leading them down didn't look well-used at all, the rest of the landscape bore clear signs of people. The vegetation looked suspiciously well-groomed and cared for; with neatly mowed grass and, a little bit further down, trees were standing in an orderly row - like soldiers on guard - and, as far as Mike knew, that sort of thing just doesn't happen in nature.

"Hope the mouse isn't expecting us to swim," said Klunk from his shoulder. "This is leading right down to the water, and I don't see any boats about."

"It'll be fine, don't worry," said Mike, trying to sound a bit more certain of this than he really was. "Hey, while we're on the subject, what _is_ it with cats and water anyway?"

"If you'd ever experienced how freezing cold wet fur gets, you wouldn't even ask the question." Klunk looked over at the seashore getting closer by the second, and grimaced slightly. "Hey, mouse -"

Reepicheep stopped and turned towards them, his expression a mixture of weariness and annoyance in roughly equal part. "I do have a name, cat," he said. "Is it too much to ask for you to remember it?"

"I'll start using your name when you start using mine!" said Klunk sourly.

"I shall start addressing you properly when you cease your insults!"

"Well, I'll stop doing that when -"

"Will both of you just quit it?" sighed Susan, who had stopped when Reepicheep did.

"My apologies, your Majesty," said Reepicheep immediately. "You're quite right, we have more urgent matters to tend to." (Klunk muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _"suck-up,"_ but luckily Reepicheep didn't seem to have heard.) "It is here at the shore we shall meet up with some friends of mine."

"Friends, by the shore? Are they merpeople?" said Susan, looking interested.

"Hardly that, your Majesty." Reepicheep, moving down to the water, stopping just far enough up on the shore that the waves wouldn't reach him, stuck his paw in his mouth and whistled.

For a moment, nothing happened. But then, a faint sound was heard from somewhere out there; a whistling sound that was _just_ different enough from Reepicheep's that it couldn't be an echo. And then, as if out of nowhere, four figures appeared on the horizon.

At first, Mike thought they were small humans in canoes or something like that, but then he realized to his surprise that what he'd thought were canoes were, in reality, huge _shoes_. The creatures, whatever they were, looked human enough from the waist-up, but instead of two legs, each of them only had one really thick leg centered in the middle of the body, and enormous singular feet that, with their vaguely boat-like shoes, floated on the water just as easily as real boats would have.

All four were paddling towards the shore now, using large wooden oars and going at such a speed that an Olympic rower would have been green with envy.

"What the blue blazes are those things?" said Mike, speaking for both himself and his two fellow travellers. Klunk was staring at the odd creatures with a definite sense of disbelief, and even Susan looked as if she was having trouble believing her own eyes.

"I don't know," said Susan, clearly as baffled as Mike and Klunk were. "They look... they look a bit like the dwarfs I knew back in Narnia, but all the dwarfs had _two_ legs... Reepicheep," she said suddenly, as if this exchange had reminded her of something she hadn't thought of before. "How long has it been?"

"I beg your pardon, your Majesty?" said Reepicheep, looking up on her.

"Narnian time never makes any sense compared to time in my world, I remember that much," said Susan. "The last time I was in Narnia, it had changed so much from how it was when I was Queen, that I hardly recognized it. How long ago was that, Reepicheep? Is this world filled with new creatures now, creatures I never knew about?"

Reepicheep looked grave, staring out on the ocean as the rowers came closer. "A long time has passed, your Majesty. Many stars have grown old and been born again. Were you to return to Narnia now, I fear you would find none left whom you knew from your last visit. Even I am only here and alive still because I long since journeyed to Aslan's own country, where age and death dare not tread, and was sent back here to perform my last task in this world: To aid the Queen."

"Yeah, well, Aslan himself turned me into a talking cat and sent me and Mike along to help get her back here in the first place," Klunk piped up, "and you don't see _me_ putting on airs like that!"

"I am not putting on airs," said Reepicheep in an annoyed tone. "Might I remind you, cat, that you are in the presence of a Queen, and were it not for the fact that you are a friend of her Majesty -!"

"Ooooh, spare me," Klunk snorted. "How many times have you said that now?"

"Klunk, shhh," said Mike, placing a hand on the cat's back just as the four rowers reached the shore, stopping a few feet away and bobbing up and down on the tiny waves, looking at the group with excited faces.

Reepicheep, deciding to forego the argument, immediately bowed to the four before turning towards Mike and the others. "May I introduce the Dufflepud Resistance."

"That's us, that's us," said the four, speaking all at once and not in a very organized manner, though in somewhat hushed voices. "Dufflepuds, that's who we are, that's right! Couldn't have said it better ourselves! Here now, are they the ones who've come to heal the Magician?"

"Honored Dufflepuds," Reepicheep went on, as if they hadn't spoken at all, "This is her Royal Highness, Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia, sister of Queen Lucy the Valiant, and her companions. I ask you to treat them with the same respect you would have given her sister and _her_ friends."

"Oh, we will, we will," the Dufflepuds promised, trying to bow and curtsey while still floating on the water, something which looked comical rather than respectful - but then again, it was probably the thought that counted.

The biggest of the four, who was wearing a rather sorry-looking blue cap, looked up at Susan and took a deep breath. "Your High Royalness," he said. "I'm Clanker, the Leader of the Dufflepud resistance -" ("He is, he is, that's who he is, all right," the other three chorused) "- and I speak for us all when I say I'm honored to finally meet you. We knew your sister, we did, or rather we _didn't_- seeing as how none of us were born when she was here - but our parents' grandparents have told us about her, and of course our Magician."

Susan blinked. "I - I beg your forgiveness, noble Dufflepuds," she said, obviously masking her astonishment with courtesy. "I regret to say that I have never heard of you until now. Certainly there were no Dufflepuds in Narnia when I was there last."

"Oh, there wouldn't be, there wouldn't be," said Clanker. "We've never been to Narnia, never in our lives, and never in our grandparents' lives either. Dufflepuds live only on Dufflepud Island. That's why it's called Dufflepud Island, you see, because it's the only place in the world where you'll find Dufflepuds."

"He said it, he said it," the other three agreed. "Can't say much clearer than that. Keep it up, Clankie, you're doing great!"

"But this isn't a safe place to talk," Clanker went on. "If you'll climb aboard, we'll take you to our Magician. He can't explain anything, of course he can't, on account of him not being able to explain anything, but it's a safe place to talk, and we can tell you everything."

"Uh... Climb aboard what, exactly?" said Mike.

"Us, of course!" said the Dufflepuds. "Step on, step on! We can carry you, we can! You wouldn't like to swim all the way, that would be extraordinarily wet."

Susan didn't seem to need any more encouragement. Like she had for some moments back in her own apartment in New York, she had seemed to grow, if not younger, then at least stronger and more vital than before. She was walking straighter and even seemed to stand taller in some weird way (whether this was because of the fire-berry, or some strange effect of the air, or a combination of the two, was impossible to say.), and wasted no time in wading out in the water.

With the help of the eager Dufflepuds, she climbed up onto the feet of Clanker and one of the others, raising herself so she was balancing with one foot on each Dufflepud, floating on the water.

The two other Dufflepuds paddled closer to the shore and began eagerly assuring Mike that they could carry him, no trouble at all, he didn't look too heavy, and anyway, if worst should come to worst, he could swim, couldn't he?

"Just saying," said Klunk underneath their voices. "You're my best friend and all that, Mike, but if you do lose your balance here, I _will_ scratch you."

"Aw, don't worry, Klunkers, I think I can..." Mike began, but then cut himself off as he heard some strange, silent thumps far behind him. There were several of them, and they seemed to be coming closer all the time, as if a herd of giant rabbits were coming hopping towards them. "What's that noise?" he said, turning around to face the island.

The Dufflepuds seemed to have heard it too, and looked nervous. "They're coming, they're coming!" they hissed. "Quick, quick, we must hurry! If they find us here they'll take us prisoner and we'll end up enslaved just like them!"

"Who?" said Mike, drawing his nunchucks and twirling them around as he assumed a battle position.

"The other Dufflepuds!" said Clanker. "They're slaves of the terrible monster, the terrible monster that came here to our island and enchanted our Magician and enslaved our brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers and cousins and grandparents!"

Just as he said that, Mike saw the forms of more creatures appearing between the trees, with the same shape, build and one gigantic leg as the Dufflepuds on the water, but and brandishing spears and swords, moving down the path in huge leaps and bounds, the ones in the front yelling and pointing at Mike and the others.

"They have seen us," said Reepicheep, turning around and drawing his rapier, which glowed a brilliant golden light. "Dufflepuds, get the Queen to safety! She must get to the Magician! We shall stall them for as long as we can!"

"I can't leave you behind," Susan protested, even as the Dufflepuds began rowing away from the shore with her, in the tone of voice of someone ready to swim back ashore rather than abandon her friends.

"I beg your forgiveness, your Majesty, but you _must!"_ Reepicheep called back, waiting as the new Dufflepuds came closer with their giant leaps. "Worry not about us, we shall fight proudly as long as our bodies have any fight left in them!"

"We'll be fine, Mrs. Palmer!" Mike yelled. "Go!"

"Don't hurt them too much!" Clanker called, his voice fainter as they got farther from the shore. "They're enslaved! They don't really mean being bad!"

If he added anything more, Mike didn't hear it, because now the small force was upon them, eight angry-looking Dufflepuds with their spears and swords at the ready. Quick as lightning, and almost as blindingly bright, Reepicheep charged them. The air around him seemed to flash brilliantly every time he moved his sword, and for each flash, one more Dufflepud was hopping around and screaming in pain, clutching his gigantic foot.

Careful of Klunk who was still on his shoulder, Mike evaded the spears that two other Dufflepuds were thrusting at him, and with a carefully-aimed spin kick he knocked the spears out of both their hands. Klunk chose this exact moment to leap off Mike's shoulder and jump on top of the head of one of them, who was so surprised he toppled over and fell.

With a flash of his nunchucks, Mike knocked out the other spearless Dufflepud, sending him tumbling to the ground, and leapt out of the way as three more charged at him with enormous jumps.

"Time to get a new perspective!" he quipped as he dodged low and rolled out of the way, causing his three attackers to collide with each other in the air and fall to the ground.

The Dufflepuds were not strong or organized fighters, but their speed and unusual way of moving forth solely through the use of high jumps made them that much harder to hit, and Mike, dodging and rolling and kicking, discovered quickly that a lot of his blows failed to connect because the targets had jumped away. But Mike had fought for his life many times before and against weirder creatures than this, and elegantly backflipped away from a mighty swing of a sword that would probably have chopped his leg off if he had been slower, locking his legs around the head of the Dufflepud who'd been knocked over by Klunk and was now getting to his feet again, ending up sitting on the surprised-looking creature's shoulders.

"Ride 'im, cowboy! Yeeeeee-haaaaa!" Mike cheered as the Dufflepud, panicking, began bouncing wildly around in order to throw him off, giving Mike the extra altitude he needed to swing his 'chucks around and sending two of the attacking Dufflepuds into dreamland, while a third once let out a startled "ooof!" as his panicking comrade accidentally jumped on top of him.

Reepicheep was a glowing whirlwind, rushing around and somehow always being there just as a Dufflepud hit the ground, and with more sharp flashes of light as his impossibly-quick sword drew more blood and ensured that certain Dufflepuds' jumps became weaker and clumsier, often accompanied by sharp yelps of pain (it's hard to jump when your one leg is bleeding).

Apparently unused to this kind of resistance, two of the Dufflepuds dropped their weapons and fled, bouncing away from the scene as quickly as they could. This left only six of them, four of which were lying unconscious on the ground and one of which was bouncing around in a panic with Mike on his shoulders, but getting more and more tired under the weight of the Turtle.

The final Dufflepud, realizing he was alone and seeing Reepicheep advancing on him from one side and Klunk (who had mainly been running around and trying not to be trampled by Dufflepud feet) rushing towards him from the other, threw himself down on the ground and yelled: "All right, all right, I give up, I'm dead, see?"

"Looks like the fun's over" said Mike as his "horse" finally collapsed under his weight and lay panting on the ground. "Not exactly warriors, these guys, huh?"

"Which is why their monster enslaved them so easily," said Reepicheep, poking at the surrendering Dufflepud with his glowing sword. "Surrender to us now, and your life shall be spared!"

"I surrender, I surrender," the Dufflepud moaned. "I don't like swords that glow like fireflies! I never wanted to be a soldier, not at all, but the monster demanded it! We have to do as the monster says, and the monster says to kill or capture all intruders, so we had to -!" he gave a sharp yelp of terror and fainted dead away as Klunk bopped him on the nose with his paw.

"You're right, not warriors at all," the cat said, looking at Reepicheep, who just shook his head in dismay.

"Those two who got away are prolly warning everyone else as we speak, though," said Mike. "I suggest we split the scene before we have an entire army of bouncing one-leggers jumpin' on our heads, or that monster they were talking about. Where's Mrs. Palm - I mean, the Queen?"

"The Dufflepud Resistance would have taken her to the Magician," said Reepicheep. "She should be safe enough with them for the time being. As for us, we have little choice in staying here on the island, as there are no boats big enough for us all to join her. I have my coracle hidden close by, but it would carry only me, and it would be a great stain on my honor were I to leave two friends of her Majesty to fend for themselves alone in a strange land - especially now that we have all fought side-by-side. That would be to abandon my comrades in arms." He bowed elegantly to them both.

Mike and Klunk exchanged glances, partly amused and partly impressed by the elaborate speech. Had it come before Reepicheep had had a chance to show his skills in battle, they might have laughed, but his speed and ferocity had more than demonstrated that despite his small size, the mouse was clearly a force to be reckoned with, and the only reason why the Dufflepuds were still alive was that he hadn't been trying to kill them.

"Uh, thanks," said Mike.

"Yeah, I guess," muttered Klunk reluctantly.

"But what should we do?" Mike went on. "We can't stay here on the shore, they'll come back and find us. We could take eight of 'em, no problem, but there could be more. And then there's that monster that they kept talking about..."

"Shall I understand this as your admitting that you are afraid of facing the unknown?" said Reepicheep, looking at Mike with piercing eyes.

"Um..." Mike paused. "Yeah, pretty much. I mean, hello, it's a monster."

Reepicheep opened his mouth, and then closed it again, as if he hadn't expected that answer and wasn't sure how to deal with it. "Well," he said. And then again: _"Well."_ He had to take a deep breath before continuing, his expression a mix of confusion and indignity. "You carry yourself as a warrior, and you fight like a warrior. What is more, if your story is true, you were chosen by Aslan to accompany the Queen! Now you tell me that you are a mere coward who will flee in the face of danger? Have you no thought for your honor?"

"Whoa, relax!" Mike held up his hands. "Just saying, we should know a bit more about this place, and this monster, before we go chargin' against it."

Reepicheep seemed to consider this, growing less tense. "Your words are not without wisdom," he conceded. "I suppose that there is a time to gather information and a time to strike. Very well... I had hoped that we might go though this together with her Majesty and the Dufflepud resistance, but it seems like that was not meant to be. Follow me, and I shall tell you what I know."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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* * *

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**Author's notes:** The plot thickens... or does it? Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

The tale of the battle between Tash and Aslan is never referred to in any of the Narnia books and was purely something I invented for this story... and as Asheena points out, it might not even be true. (If it is, though, I think we can safely say that the Narnians' recounting of it is somewhat more accurate and that Aslan won.) The concept of "diamond juice" comes from _The Silver Chair_, even if it's only mentioned in brief by Golg the gnome, and none of the characters in the story actually get to taste it. I figured that Ardazhin would love the idea of drinking diamonds.

And of course the Dufflepuds are from _Voyage of the Dawn Treader. _I couldn't have made them up if I tried.


	12. As The Hag Turns

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

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* * *

**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN:  
As the Hag Turns**

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* * *

**

As Leonardo was rallying his impromptu Narnian troops for a forest-wide search of the Red Lady, the subject of the search had decided to stop her flight for a short moment, in order to gather her troops - or at least the ones that had survived.

"I see what you mean, Captain," she was forced to admit, looking mournfully at the broken golden chain that her ruby had until recently been securely hanging from. - and allowing herself a moment of sadness over the lost Werewolves and the burned Hag; soldiers and servants she couldn't really afford to lose. "That Green Creature is definitely a dangerous foe."

"Regrettably, M'Lady," said the Captain of the Werewolves, with an angry glare at the other Werewolves, clearly angry that they had succumbed to bloodlust when he had specifically told them not to. "And we did not even get that small piece of him that you wanted."

"Don't remind me," said the Red Lady, disgusted. "Ylgameth, this is all your fault! It was your stupid idea that - Wait, where did Ylgameth go?" she interrupted herself as she suddenly realized the suspicious absence of the eldest Hag.

The Hags and Werewolves all looked around, confused. "She was here a moment ago," said one of the Hags.

"I'm not interested in where she was a moment ago, you idiot, I want to know where she is _now_!" the Red Lady snapped. "I'm really happy you all escaped unharmed, though," she continued in a much friendlier tone. "Too bad about... the losses..." (she could never keep the Werewolves' names straight) "And, of course, Yareth, but she really only had herself to blame. I've told you all, time and time again that none may touch my ruby - and what does she do, the fool? Tries to grab it as soon as she has the chance, and gets burned to death for all her trouble. Tragic. Well, now you all know _why_ you're not supposed to touch the ruby."

There were a few murmurings of agreement.

"All due respect, M'Lady," said the Captain of the Werewolves, "what do we do now? Ylgameth's plan must be said to be a failure..."

"I know," the Red Lady sighed. "Oh, it was a stupid idea and a waste of time anyway. It looks like we'll just have to improvise. I -" She never got to finish her sentence, for at that very moment She was interrupted by a rustling in the bushes behind her. At once, she twirled around to face whatever was trying to sneak up on her, and was halfway relieved and halfway annoyed when she saw that it was Ylgameth, emerging from the bushes with a frustratingly smug look on her face.

"So there you are!" the Red Lady exclaimed, trying to pretend that she'd known all along that it was Ylgameth. "Where have you been? Didn't I give the order to retreat?"

"You did, M'Lady," said the Hag in her surprisingly smooth voice.

"Well? Are you too good to obey my orders now? _What's so funny?_" she demanded as Ylgameth broke down in a silent chuckle. "Control yourself!"

"A thousand pardons, M'Lady," said Ylgameth, even if it was clear from her expression that none of the thousand pardons were heartfelt. "But it might interest you to see this." She opened her clutched hand and held it up for the Red Lady to see - and there it was, in her palm, a tiny splinter of some hard, whitish material.

"Are you mocking our Lady, Ylgameth?" said the Captain furiously, but the Hag simply grinned toothily.

And all of a sudden, the Red Lady understood. "This... this is a piece of a tooth?" she said.

Ylgameth nodded. "Indeed it is, M'Lady."

"And you're absolutely _sure_ it's _his_?"

"I have very sharp eyes, M'Lady. When the Centauress kicked him, one of his teeth was damaged. This splinter fell to the ground, and I took the opportunity to secure it for you." Yulgameth's voice was full of self-satisfaction.

"But that means..." Despite her annoyance with Ylgameth's attitude, the Red Lady felt the smile well up in her as she reached out and grabbed the tiny tooth chip. "The plan might succeed after all!"

"Indeed it might, M'Lady."

"Thank you, Ylgameth," said the Red Lady. "Just for this service I'll completely forget that you ignored my orders. Oh, I'm sorry," she giggled as she saw the Hag's face fall slightly, "were you expecting some great reward? Old Hag, you disobeyed my orders, and now I'm forgiving you for it - that should be more than enough reward for you!"

There was a distinct sound of sniggering from a few of the Werewolves as Ylgameth bowed stiffly and went to stand among the other Hags.

"Now now, children," said the Red Lady with a gentle scold in her voice. "It's not nice to laugh at others' misfortune while they can still hear you. If you must laugh, kindly do it out of Ylgameth's earshot."

She found it horribly difficult not to start laughing herself at the dirty look Ylgameth was sending her, and in order to get a bit more control over herself, she concentrated on the tooth chip in her hand. So small it was... and yet, more than big enough for her purposes.

With a sharp turn, she turned towards her Hags and Werevolves. "I will need a bit of time to perform the ritual," she said. "_You_ and _you_," (she pointed out two random hags) "stay here and aid me. The rest of you, go out there! No doubt the woodland creatures are looking for us as we speak, so stall them! Don't engage unless you have to, but make sure they don't reach this place!"

"And I shall guard you, M'Lady," said the Captain of the Werewolves, walking up and standing next to her. "Should any of the woodland creatures come near, they shall find my claws and teeth waiting for them."

She shrugged, with a smile. "As you wish. The rest of you, go on! The last one out my sight gets five seconds of intense pain courtesy of my ruby - but Ylgameth, hold on," she added as everybody began running away. "I have a special task for you. Go back to the clearing where we first met the green creature and see if you can do anything about Yareth's body. You there," (she pointed at a random Werewolf who hadn't been as quick as the others) "be a sweetie - go with her and make sure she doesn't get any bright ideas."

"Of course, M'Lady," said the Werewolf, shooting Ylgameth a look that dared her to get any bright ideas, before bowing to the Red Lady and dragging the Hag along with him.

Just before they vanished in between the trees, the Red Lady called out: "By the way, Ylgameth, you were the last one out of my sight!" squeezed her ruby and laughed heartily at the Hag doubling over with the pain.

* * *

Ylgameth fumed with anger as the Werewolf dragged her through the forest.

The ruby-induced pains always vanished quickly, but the sheer indignation of it all stayed, the feeling of hatred growing a little bigger, a little more intense for every time. How _dare_ the Red Lady treat her, Ylgameth, with such callous cruelty? She, who was the oldest and wisest of Hags, and who had been a loyal servant of the Narnian Witch Clan ever since the beginning? This kind of nonsense wouldn't have been tolerated for a moment, not for a _moment,_ back in the old days.

What would the great Queen Jadis have said, had she seen the sorry state of the forces of darkness in Narnia nowadays? Scattered to all corners of the world and without a proper strong leader to unite them, they had grown small-minded, unambitious and petty, with little or no interest in recreating the glory of the olden days.

Werewolves lived in shadows, hiding from everyone and everything. Hags masqueraded as humans and kept their heads down, for fear that the King's knights should discover them and put and end to their miserable lives. Giants paid treaty to the humans and tried to pretend they weren't there. Black Dwarfs had apparently changed sides completely and allied themselves with Aslan's crowd these days. And all the rest - Efreets, Orkneys, Cruels and others - had either left the land for good or gone so far underground that it was impossible for anyone to make contact with them.

And the only one who could have changed things, the only true Witch left in Narnia and last of the Witch Clan, was an absolute joke. True, Ylgameth was supposed to be loyal to the Witches, but back in the day when she and the other hags had sworn their loyalty, it had meant something. The White Witch's greatness and glory had truly been a marvel to behold, and she had truly believed in her cause, right to the bitter end. Her soul burned - passionate and beautiful, yet cold and hard, like a frozen flame - and all creatures of darkness, most of all Ylgameth herself, knew the burning and followed it. It was her reign that had been the true Golden Age of Narnia, not the feeble few years when King Peter and his kin were on the throne.

The Red Lady could never hope to match that, no matter what she told herself. But Ylgameth had followed her anyway, in the hope that the young fool might grow into her role and maybe bring Narnia back to at least a pale imitation of its former greatness. However, there were _limits_ to what a Hag should have to go through, even for the memories of Narnia's true Queen.

She had originally planned to bide her time some more, play along as the servant and advisor, but this new development just proved that the Red Lady didn't deserve even the _pretense_ of the Hag's assistance.

No... perhaps it was time to put her _own_ plans into motion.

* * *

Narnians are a curious lot. A casual observer might look at them and think they are easy pickings for any conqueror or war lord who might happen upon them - and while it is true that Narnians on the whole are probably better suited for laughter and merrymaking than for battle and hardships, this does not (as many an enemy of the kingdom has discovered) mean that they should be underestimated as a fighting force. Because the Narnians are Aslan's people, and in the heart of almost every one of them burns the spirit and courage of the Lion, giving them a strength that is almost impossible to quench, along with a love of adventure, heroics and fighting for what's right. In times of need, even the most peaceful and amiable true-blooded Narnian will be quick to fight against the enemy and slow to surrender. Even conquered and suppressed, even spoiled and lazy from long days of peace, the roaring spirit of Narnia needs only the merest hint of kindle in order to burn as brightly as ever.

And so, the army of woodland creatures that set out to hunt for the Red Lady might have surprised our casual observer with its speed and intensity, but Leonardo was getting used to the country and the people, and found that, on the whole, it would have been more surprising if they had been less organized and effective.

Squirrels and Apes swung from tree to tree as they scouted ahead, quickly followed by the swifter runners such as Centaurs, Cheetahs and Stags. The smaller and slower creatures were riding the bigger and faster ones so as to not slow them down, and and high above flew the Griffin, sharp eyes constantly scanning the forest below for any sign of unusual movements.

And what was more, it seemed like the forest itself was on their side now. Several times, trees parted and stepped aside to allow the army passage, and every so often, slender, feminine figures would show themselves and motion with their arms where to go, speaking excitedly in curious voices that reminded Leonardo of the rustling of leaves.

These, Leonardo realized, had to be the Dryads he's heard about, the tree-spirits that Portly had mentioned as always watching and listening.

"This way!" the Dryads whispered. "You can catch them if you hurry, hurry, hurry!"

"For Narnia and the King!" Moorwin roared, a roar that was echoed by all the other Narnians as they ran, the trees parting in their wake.

All of a sudden, the Griffin swooped down low, joining them on the ground. "Hag and Werewolf coming straight at you," he said. "The Apes and Squirrels are attacking them. Ready your weapons."

And before anyone could react, the bushes rustled, and tumbling out came a Werewolf, in wolf form, with three Apes and ten Squirrels all attacking it at once. The Werewolf snarled and flailed around, trying to bite its assailants, but at that moment the Bear stepped out of the crowd, and with a mighty swipe of his paw knocked the Wolf to its side, causing Apes and Squirrels to scatter. Then, before the Wolf had any time to recover, the Bear had turned his back and promptly sat down on it.

"Stopped it," he said with a slow smile.

"Uh... yeah. Thanks," said Leo, noting that the Werewolf had stopped struggling. "What about the Hag, though? The Griffin said there was a-"

"She's right here!" chattered one Squirrel, emerging from the bushes with second figure in tow: an old, wrinkled woman with sharp eyes. Leo recognized her immediately as one of the Hags that had been with the Red Lady.

"Yes," said the Hag, "and I surrender." She held her hands up. "Look, I carry no weapon. Hear me out!"

"Stay on your guard!" Moorwin hissed to Leonardo. "Hags are dangerous! They have powerful magic and can enchant you using their voice alone!"

"If she so much as tries," growled one of the Dwarfs, placing an arrow on his bow and aiming it at the Hag "she'll have my arrow through her heart long before she can get the words out."

"That would be foolish, Dwarf," said the Hag, "for I have information that you need! And you need it quickly, for the Red Lady is even now preparing the ritual!"

The Narnians tensed. Leo stepped forward and held his sword to the Hag's throat - surprisingly enough, she didn't flinch or try to move away, but just stared at him with cold, hateful eyes. He held her gaze for a few seconds before lowering the sword. "What ritual?" he said. "Speak, and I promise we won't kill you."

"That's not enough," she answered. "I want your word that as soon as I have told you what you need to know, you will let me go on my way."

"And run back to the Red Lady and tell her that we fell for your trap?" said Leonardo. "I don't think so."

"You have no choice!" the Hag snapped, causing several of the Narnians to stare at her. "Because if you don't agree to this bargain, the Red Lady will have taken over the entire kingdom of Narnia by this time tomorrow, and you shall all be her slaves! Even _you_, Green Creature! You have seen how she can enchant people into doing her bidding - well, you will be the next! This entire meeting with you was just so she could get her chance to put you under her spell, can't you see that?"

Leonardo looked at her suspiciously. "And why didn't she?" he said. "Why enchant Moorwin if it was me she was after?"

The hag took a deep breath. "You are like King Rilian, that's why," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know why he's called 'Rilian the Disenchanted'? He was released from a powerful enchantment years ago, and since then, it's been impossible to get to him with casual enchantments like that. They don't seem to have any effect on him any longer. And you, who can see through the Lady's invisibility spells so easily..." Ylgameth narrowed her eyes. "There's a strong will in both of you, too strong for normal magic. But even you... even the king... couldn't fight against the _oldest_ magic... not without my help."

"And you're willing to help us?" Leo narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

The Hag straightened slightly, and there was a steely resolve in her eyes. "I am Ylgameth," she said. "Oldest and wisest of Hags, faithful servant to the White Witch, and to the Lady in Green after her. And I will not let their memories be sullened any more by the Red Lady! The sky is high and the sea is deep, but deeper than the blackest ocean is my hatred for that woman who calls herself a Witch! Look at me, Green Creature, and see the all-encompassing hate burn in my eyes!"

"Most impressive speech," said Leo dryly, "but not very convincing. If I understand this right, you're saying you've been serving witches for hundreds of years. And now you're trying to convince us that you suddenly want to change sides?"

"Change sides? I make no such pretense," said Ylgameth. "Your side can never be mine, Green Creature - but for the moment, we have a common goal. It's not in my interest, nor in yours, that the Red Lady should succeed in her plans! She wants to be Queen of Narnia, as the White Witch once was, and she's gaining the means even as we speak!"

"Don't trust her," said the Dwarf who was still aiming his bow at her. "Even without the enchantment, a Hag will say anything to get what she wants! Given half a chance, she'll betray us all to the Red Lady!"

"Actually, I don't think so," said Portly, peering nearsightedly at Ylgameth. "I think she meant all that she said. Wouldn't trust her not to stab me in the back afterwards, of course, but it seems to me like she's honest about wanting to bargain. After all, I am -"

"Portly," the Dwarf interrupted, "_please_ tell me that this is not going to be another of your speeches on what great judges of character you badgers are."

"Of course not," said the Badger, a little too hurriedly. "I'm just saying, I don't think she's with the Red Lady."

"The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend," said the Dwarf. "Only a fool starts trusting a snake simply because he sees it biting a dragon."

"Then again," said one of the Fauns thoughtfully, "don't the stories say that when Queen Lucy the Valiant first entered Narnia, she was saved from imprisonment or worse by one of the servants of the White Witch, who risked his own life to save the young Queen from the Witch? Who's to say we're not looking at a similar situation right now?"

This comment caused most of the Narnians to stop and think, but the Dwarf wasn't having any of it: "If you're referring to Master Tumnus the Faun, he was different. For one thing, he was not a Hag. For another, all the stories agree that he did genuinely change sides, out of pity for the Queen. This Hag is simply looking for a bargain, out of pure self-interest. Even you should understand the difference here!"

"All right," said Leo loudly, sensing that an argument was going to start unless he cut in. "Both sides have a point. Ylgameth, did you say your name was? Why should we trust you?"

"Because only I know the secret of the old magic," she answered. "Only I can tell you how to escape the Red Lady's control, _and_ how to save your precious king Rilian from her! She intends to get a small piece of him - a few strands of hair, a fingernail, anything - anyone who has a small piece of you and knows the old magic will have you completely in their power!"

Leo felt as if an ice-cold hand had gripped his heart. He ran his tongue over his chipped tooth - there was definitely a piece of it missing.

It seemed like Ylgameth guessed what he was thinking, because she looked up at him and said, extremely cocky for someone who has two swords almost pressed against her throat: "That's right, Green Creature. She has a fragment of your tooth. Didn't think that anyone noticed one of your teeth breaking when the Centauress kicked you, did you?"

Leo forced the feeling of dread away, and tried to pretend he didn't notice Moorwin's shocked expression - he _hadn't_ thought anyone noticed, and he hadn't told anyone, so for the Hag to even know about it did at least suggest that she was telling the truth on some level. But he couldn't let fear dictate his actions. "Supposing we did agree to your bargain," he said as calmly as he could, "what exactly is it you propose?"

"Simple. The Red Lady is preparing the ritual to get the old magic to work. I can tell you where she is, and if you hurry, you can stop her before she can finish it. In return, you will let me leave the land of Narnia. I'll get a ship and sail to the East, and you will never have to worry about me again."

"Sail to the East?" said Moorwin with a frown. "Everyone knows that's the direction of Aslan's country! What makes you think one such as you would be welcome there?"

"I'll take my chances," said Ylgameth. "Do we or do we not have a bargain? You do not have much time to decide!"

Leonardo's hand clenched around his sword a little tighter. "How do we know it's not a trap?"

"You do not. You either trust me, or waste your chances. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Leo glanced at the Narnians, most of whom were looking conflicted about the entire thing. The Dwarf with the bow was clearly itching to put an arrow in the Hag, but several of the Centaurs and Fauns looked thoughtful. Portly simply nodded at Leo, and after a while Moorwin, who looked grim, nodded her head as well.

"Seems like the majority wants to trust you," said Leo, turning back to Ylgameth. "All right. But _you_ will take us back to the Red Lady, and _you_ will go first, to prove that we're not entering a trap. When we've dealt with the Red Lady, you may go where you want - but if you even _look_ like you're _thinking_ of tricking us..." he motioned for the bow-happy Dwarf to step forward.

"Then you will _not_ live to regret it," the Dwarf finished with a nasty smile.

Ylgameth ground her teeth, but nodded in agreement. "Very well. Follow me."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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* * *

**

**Author's notes:** Yes, yes, I know, it's been ages, and to my regular readers (one... two... three... yep, looks like you're all here!), I'd like to apologize for the long wait. I have two excuses for it - well, three, if you count a lot of real-life stuff.

One, this chapter was difficult to write, even if it's a revision of the first draft. I just couldn't get it to feel "right," and it took five or six revisions before I finally went back to the original draft and do a seventh revision that I could kindasortamaybe accept. This is not, and will never be, my favorite chapter of the story - it's the only chapter in fact, that doesn't contain a single one of the scenes I originally wanted to write when I started this fanfic - but it had to happen, because it sets up some very important plot threads.

Two, I just I haven't focused as much on fanfiction lately because I've been working on my artwork and my original concepts (most notably the webcomic _Vanadys: Tales of a Fallen Goddess_). I like fanfiction, but there is much to be said for doing your own thing as well, and if it's between fanfic and _Vanadys_... sorry, but fanfic loses.

And three... yeah, real-life stuff. No point in going into details.

That said, I'm _not_ giving up on this story, and even if it might take some time yet, I _will_ see the entire thing finished and posted. Thank you for your patience.


	13. The Enchanted Magician

**THE LION, THE CAT AND THE TURTLES**

**Based on **_**Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_**  
by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird**

**and **

_**The Chronicles of Narnia**_**  
by C. S. Lewis.**

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER TWELVE:**  
**The Enchanted Magician**

* * *

Susan stood shakily on the oversized shoes of the Dufflepuds as they rowed her farther and farther away from Dufflepud Island, desperately trying to not show how dismayed she felt by the fading sounds of battle behind her. She had never been one for fighting, not even back in her days as Queen, but she didn't like the idea of leaving friends behind to fend for themselves while she was carried off to safety.

If only she'd had her horn with her so that she could call for help, or at least her bow so that she could have... well, maybe not _fought_ the enemy Dufflepuds, but helped frighten them away or something.

Already she felt stronger than she had in years; ever since she had commanded the door between worlds opened, the part of her that was old, weary Mrs. Palmer had grown smaller, yielding to the half-forgotten, long dormant part of her that was Queen Susan of Narnia. It had been roused by the Turtles and the cat back in her own world, and with the Narnian air (even if she was _technically_ not in Narnia) filling her lungs again and again, adding fire and flame to the fire-berry burning with warmth and energy in her stomach, she could feel the Queen part of her grow stronger.

It was a strange feeling, both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, but she held firmly onto it. She knew, as certain as anything, that if she was to have any hope of helping the others, she would need Queen Susan, would need her strength and courage - and, she noted with some surprise, she had never realized how much she had _missed _Queen Susan until now. It was as if she hadn't been quite whole before now, like there had been an emptiness inside her that she hadn't noticed before it began filling up.

If it hadn't been for the fact that she was still worried sick about Mike, Klunk and Reepicheep, she might even have started enjoying the ride.

It was in the middle of this epiphany she saw the tiny little stone island that appeared in front of them, steadily growing bigger as they closed in on it. It was barely more than a large rock in the sea (with, it must be admitted, several dramatic and interesting-looking stone formations), only a few minutes' swift paddling away from Dufflepud island itself, but the cheers of the Dufflepuds made it clear that as far as they were concerned, this was a stronghold and a safehaven with few, if any, equals.

The Dufflepuds slowed down as they reached the rocky shores of the island, coming to a halt so that Susan could step over onto dry land.

"We're here, your Royalness!" said Clanker with great pride in his voice. "Welcome to the stronghold of the Dufflepud Resistance."

"It's very..." (Susan searched for a suitable word) "...impressive."

"Knew you would like it, knew you would!" the Dufflepuds spoke all at once, all bouncing off the water as easy as anything, landing on solid ground and jumping up and down in excitement. "Now you have to follow us to the Magician! That's right, the Magician, the Magician! He's here on this island you see! Indeed, because if he hadn't been here, we wouldn't have come here! No, we wouldn't, because that would just have been pointless, wouldn't it?"

"Will he be able to help my friends?" said Susan hopefully.

"Of course! He's the Magician, he can do anything," said Clanker. "But you'll have to heal him first."

"That's right," said one of the other Dufflepuds. "He can't do anything before you've healed him!"

"Oh no, oh no, we couldn't ask him to do anything before that," the final two Dufflepuds agreed.

All right," said Susan as patiently as she could. "But who is your Magician, and how do I heal him?"

"Why, he's _our_ Magician, of course!" said Clanker, looking surprised at the question. "You didn't think we would talk about some _other_ Magician, did you?"

"Quite right, quite right, Clankie!" said the other three. "That's logic, that is!"

"It was the terrible monster, you see," said Clanker. It came from the West, and it enchanted our Magician and enslaved the Dufflepuds! The four of us, we rescued the Magician and brought him to this island to hide from the monster, but we couldn't break the enchantment, no, we couldn't, and now he's enchanted and can't help us! So you have to heal him from being enchanted, and then he can help us!"

Susan felt her heart sink a little. She had no experience with breaking enchantments. "What do I have to do?"

"Actually," said Clanker, "we were hoping you'd tell us."

"What?"

"Our friend the Mouse, who just arrived here yesterday," Clanker explained, "has told us that a Queen would come to help us in our need. Just as a Queen once saved both us and our beloved Magician from an evil invisibility spell, so would her sister, who was also a Queen, come to break the evil spell that's been placed upon our Magician, and save our brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers and cousins and grandparents from the terrible monster!"

"But he didn't say how!" one of the other three added.

"He didn't need to!" said another one. "You'll do great, your Royal Queenieness! You'll know what to do!"

"Yes, yes," they all chorused, all bouncing and jumping around Susan to lead her up the rocky past and towards one of the stone formations. "Come see him! We'll tell you the story! And you'll know how to help!"

Susan wished she'd been as confident as they sounded. From the sounds of it, they were expecting another Queen Lucy; steadfast, brave and never faltering. Lucy had been a renowned healer and physician back in the old days - not only thanks to her trusted vial of potion that could heal any wound or disease, but also thanks to her incredible ability to instantly see what was wrong with people and what needed to be done. She also had far more experience with magic and enchantments than Susan ever did, and would probably have known what to do the instant she saw the Magician.

For a moment, Susan felt her strength waver, and she was filled with an immense pity for these Dufflepuds; they needed someone like Lucy the Valiant, and all they'd got was Susan the Gentle, the only one left - and, sadly, by far the most useless - of the four Kings and Queens of old. Why couldn't she have been more like Lucy?

But then, the moment passed, and Susan's resolve strengthened again. This was no time to feel sorry for herself or wish for things that couldn't happen. Lucy was long gone, but Susan was still around, and now that she had been given a second chance, she wasn't about to spill it.

Wordlessly, she followed the chattering Dufflepuds (who hadn't noticed her moment of doubt at all) up the singular path on the island; a small rocky path that led straight up to the largest stone formation.

"We didn't used to be Dufflepuds at all," said Clanker, to the constant agreeing of his three companions, as they bounced along. "We used to be something else, only our parents never tell us what that was, because they say it's too horrible to speak of!

"And when they say something is too horrible to speak of, they mean it's so horrible that no-one should speak of it!" yelled the smallest Dufflepud.

"That's right, that's right! But our good and wise Magician, he granted us a great and glorious boon and turned us into the proud and noble creatures you see before you now! And this is where we get to the point, you see, because there is a point to this, that's why I'm making this short and to the point."

"Nothing like a short point, nothing like it," said the other Dufflepuds. "We're here! Enter, enter!"

They'd reached the stone formation, and now that she was up close, Susan could see a crack in the rock, a small entrance to a cave, just big enough that she could walk through it without crouching down. Taking a deep breath, she walked inside.

The cave was dark, what little light was there only coming in through the entrance, and she had to wait a little before her eyes adjusted enough that she could move on and see where she put her feet. It wasn't a particularly big cave, but it was cluttered with small things; a cooking pot, a fishing rod, a few well-used knives and tools. And furthest in, on a stone slab by the inner wall, an old man was lying with closed eyes, as if in a coma.

He looked very much like a traditional Magician, with a long white beard and dressed in a red robe. The only thing that clashed a little with the image was that he was for some reason also barefoot - but maybe the Dufflepuds had removed his shoes to make him more comfortable. Susan stood for a moment, looking at the scene, before moving a little bit closer.

"She's going to heal him, she is," said the Dufflepuds behind her. "We'll be rid of the terrible monster, just you wait and see! How are you going to do it, your Royalness?"

"Good question," Susan muttered, looking at the Magician again. "My sister Lucy once had a vial containing the juice of the fireflowers that grow on the sun. It could heal just about any wound or illness, even magical ones."

"Could it help our Magician?" said Clanker eagerly.

"I don't know," Susan admitted, still looking at the sleeping old man. "It doesn't really matter much anyway, since I don't have the vial here. Why am I even thinking about this?"

"Maybe it can help even if it isn't here!" Clanker suggested, bouncing up to her side. "Maybe you're thinking about something without thinking about it, and the thing you're thinking about isn't what you're really thinking about, but it's something that can help!"

Behind them, the other three Dufflepuds take a collective breath in order to agree with this statement - but the agreement never came. Susan turned to look at them and was mildly surprised to see them exchange glances and look uncertain.

"That doesn't make any sense, Clanker," the smallest one finally said. "If you think about something, you think about it. You can't think about something without thinking about it."

"You can't," the other two agreed. "It's impossible to think without thinking! If you don't think, you don't think!"

The Dufflepuds fell silent again, and all four of them were looking fairly shocked at each other and themselves, as if this disagreement over philosophical matters had been completely out of line. Finally Clanker turned back to Susan and said, looking ashamed of himself. "We're deeply sorry, your Royalness, deeply sorry. That argument was uncalled for!"

"Completely uncalled for, completely uncalled for," the other three murmured, averting their eyes and shifting uncomfortably. "What must you think of us? Starting a fight like this! And in such dire circumstances too! We should be ashamed of ourselves, we _are_ ashamed of ourselves."

Susan opened her mouth to answer them, but closed it again as the thought struck her. For a long moment she just stood and stared at the Magician. Could it really be that simple?

"I think," she said, and was surprised at how strong her voice suddenly sounded, "I think that you have a point, Clanker. _Do what you can, with what you have, where you are!_"

"What?" said Clanker, clearly confused.

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are," Susan repeated. "It's so simple!"

"Well..." said Clanker. "You couldn't very well do what you _can't_, with what you _don't_ have, where you _aren't,_ could you? That's only common sense, isn't it?"

Susan almost laughed. "Yes," she agreed, "common sense. But sometimes common sense is a hard thing to come by, even for an old Queen. Aslan _told_ me what I needed to do, all those years ago! I just didn't realize all that implied before now! We don't have Lucy, and we don't have her vial, but we _do_ have me...and I have recently swallowed swallow a fire-berry, which came from the same plant as the fireflowers from the sun..." She felt a smile spread on her face. "And how are enchantments usually broken, in all the stories?"

The Dufflepuds looked blankly at her.

Slowly, Susan knelt down beside the Magician, bent over him and planted a light kiss on his lips.

And there was a brilliant, bright light.

* * *

"This is where they live?" said Mike, looking over at the house. It was a large, long building, made entirely out of gray stone, with many windows and several doors, though it was only two stories high. "Everyone on the island lives in that one building?"

"Exactly," answered Reepicheep. "The Dufflepuds all live on the ground floor."

"And what's upstairs?" said Klunk from his perching place on Mike's shoulder. "Storage rooms?"

"Those are the quarters of Coriakin, the Magician. Though at the moment," Reepicheep added with an expression of disgust, "they serve as the lodgings of the monster."

They hadn't had much trouble avoiding the Dufflepuds. As soon as the curious one-legged creatures had been warned by the two fleeing warriors from the battle, every last one of them had picked up such weapons as he or she could, and in a large group bounced down to the shore while yelling incomprehensibly. Not a single Dufflepud had stayed behind to guard the house; in fact, they hadn't even bothered to close the door properly when they left.

Reepicheep, who claimed to know the Dufflepuds well, assured them that they would spend at least half an hour jumping around by the water and search for the intruders, before one of them thought of the idea to look anywhere else. In that time, said intruders could go wherever they liked on the island without fear of being spotted, long as they stayed out of sight from the shore. "The Dufflepuds are not the most skillful thinkers in the world," he said. "But they are a good people, not nearly as foolish and unreasonable as they once were. And in this, they are innocent pawns of the monster. If we can avoid spilling any more of their blood, so much the better."

"Sounds good," said Mike, silently wondering just how foolish and unreasonable these Dufflepuds had been before if Reepicheep thought their current behavior was an improvement. "So what is this monster? Is it in here?"

"Such is my guess," said Reepicheep. "But I have not actually seen it as of yet." He raised his head and sniffed the air, his face a study in concentration. "There is, I think, something here that should never have been. Hidden, but there all the same."

"Sooo," said Mike. "You don't actually know all that much about this monster at all."

"All I know for certain is that the monster commands a strong magic, strong enough to defeat worthy Coriakin and make slaves of his subjects," the Mouse replied. "But we must put faith in our strength and valor - and trust that Aslan is with us. For now that the Queen has gone to face her task, it's time for the rest of us to face ours - whatever it may be."

"Guess it doesn't include running and hiding and calling for mommy?" It was meant as a joke on Mike's behalf, but the insulted look Reepicheep shot him made him wish he hadn't said it. "Uh, anyway," he continued, "if Mrs. Palm - I mean, the Queen, is off to break the enchantment or whatever, maybe we should see what we can do in the meantime... but how do you deal with a monster that has magic?"

"Use magic?" Klunk offered.

"Hmm." Mike rubbed his chin, trying to think. While a lot of people (including certain brothers) might have said that thinking was not Mike's strongest suit, this wasn't quite true - he could think as well as anyone when the situation called for it, it was just that most of the time he had Splinter, Leonardo or Donatello around to do the heavy thinking for him, and he much preferred spending his energy on having a good time. But now, when neither of them were here and the only actual ninja around was Mike, he knew he needed to put forth more of an effort and come up with a plausible strategy. How to beat an enemy who has powerful magic and probably all the advantages.

Hmmm.

"I don't suppose the monster has any spare magic wands around?" he said lamely.

"I beg your pardon?" Reepicheep, seemingly forgetting the perceived insult, looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

"Well, I think Klunk's actually got something here. We have a saying in my world that goes _'fight fire with fire'_ - so why not fight magic with magic? And since this Coriakin isn't here, I thought maybe if the monster had some magic we could, uh, borrow..."

Reepicheep's brow furrowed. "What you suggest does not seem to be the most honorable path," he said accusingly.

"Sure it is," said Mike cheerfully. "It's a strategy to defeat a monster and free a bunch of innocents! As my brother Leonardo would prolly say, honor without compassion isn't honor at all."

Finally, Reepicheep smiled. "I do think I like your brother," he said. "All right, let us for the sake of argument say that we could use the monster's magic against it. Can you control the magic? Are you a Magician in your world?"

Mike felt his heart sink, just a little. "Well, I've played one online... and I've read all the _Harry Potter_ books..."

"And these are magic books, are they?" Reepicheep sounded skeptical.

"They're full of magic!" Klunk declared. "I saw one of the movies on TV, and it was all wand-waving and ghost deer running about!"

Reepicheep wrinkled his furry nose. "I would have dearly liked an explanation for what you are talking about, but I suspect it would take longer than we have," he said. "I know for a fact that there _is_ a book of magic spells in Coriakin's study, but whether the monster has taken it or not, I couldn't say. Besides -"

"Only one way to find out!" said Klunk. "Watch the master spy cat in action!" And with that, he jumped from his perching place on Mike's shoulder and ran up towards the house.

"Klunk, wait -" Mike began, but the cat had already darted in through the open door and vanished inside.

For one long moment, Turtle and Mouse just stood staring at the open door.

Then Reepicheep drew his rapier with a flash of light. "We must follow him!" he said. "Come!"

"Wait -" said Mike, raising his hand, but the Mouse was already rushing towards the door.

For a second, Mike wavered. He knew how good Klunk was at being sneaky; the cat seemed able to vanish as well as any ninja when he felt like it, and three infiltrators would be a lot easier to notice than one, especially when one of the three was so much bigger... and there was no guarantee there were any hiding places inside big enough for a mutant Turtle. His brain said that the most sensible thing he could do was to wait and hope the two would be able to manage on their own - but his heart protested loudly against any notion that did not involve rushing in to protect his cat against any threat he might encounter.

And, though Splinter had often advised his students against blindly following their hearts instead of reacting sensibly, Mike's heart _always_ won over his brain. He drew his nunchucks and followed Reepicheep inside.

* * *

Swift and silent as only a cat on the prowl can be, Klunk ran through the corridor, his soft paws making no sound at all against the even softer plush carpet. The house, while not as big as some of the buildings he was used to in New York, was still enormous, and even more so to a little cat like him, but its layout was simple and easy to grasp: Through the entire house ran the corridor, endlessly long and with thick plush carpets, and to either side were many doors - some open, some shut - that led to other rooms; bedrooms, a kitchen, what looked like some common dining room. Any room on the ground floor (at least as far as Klunk could make out) was accessible from that corridor, which would make the place easy to search.

He ignored all the rooms, though (even the kitchen, which he considered a deep and personal sacrifice), and instead headed for the very end of the corridor, where the staircase stood waiting for him.

The place was almost as silent as Klunk himself; at first, the only sound he could hear being the slow, solemn _tick-tock_ of a big, ominous grandfather clock placed almost at the end of the corridor, but then - the sound of footsteps, _running_ footsteps, behind him.

Instincts took over at that point, and the instincts said that if he was being pursued, turning and looking back would just cost him precious seconds he might not afford, so instead he sped up, rushing over the carpet faster than he'd ever run before, ignoring the hissed _"hey!"_ from behind him. With a huge leap, he reached the grandfather clock and climbed up, reaching the top in less than a second.

The top of the clock was round and not very easy to keep your balance on, but cats are very good at not falling down when they deed to, and Klunk spun around without too much difficulty to look down and for the first time see his pursuers. "All right, flatfoot!" he announced. "You'll never take this cat alive! I've got the high ground now, and... oh," he cut himself off as he saw Mike and Reepicheep come running up to him.

For a brief moment, Klunk felt embarrassed - but like all cats he was good at pretending he wasn't. "I knew it was you guys," he said as lightly as he could.

Mike looked like he was about to chuckle, but instead he just said. "I'm glad the others aren't here right now... I'd never hear the end of how I'm a bad influence on you. C'mon down, will ya?"

"Yeah, might as well. The book wasn't up here anyway." Satisfied that he'd been able to think up such a compelling reason why he'd climbed up in the first place (and the two others certainly seemed to have bought it), Klunk jumped down into Mike's waiting arms and climbed back up on his shoulder. "Why'd you follow me anyway? I thought we agreed that I was going ahead to spy?"

"No, _you_ agreed you were going ahead to spy," said Reepicheep. "Or perhaps _'wait'_ means something different in your language? We must stay together, cat! Splitting up would make us far easier pickings for the monster!"

"I think the entire spy thing's a bust now anyway," said Mike. "If the monster's here and hasn't caught on to the fact that we're here now, it's gotta be deaf."

The three tensed and fell silent, looking around the empty corridor. Klunk strained his ears to listen for signs of a monster; the sound of heavy footsteps, of angry snarls, but there was nothing - the only sound was the continued ticking of the clock.

"Maybe the monster's not in?" he suggested.

"Or maybe it's waiting to lure us into a trap," said Reepicheep. He drew his rapier, which seemed to glow a little brighter as he began walking towards the stairs. "In either case, there is nothing to be gained from prolonging the inevitable."

As the Mouse began climbing up the stairs, Mike turned to look at Klunk. "Okay, buddy," he said. "Just as a precaution - if we meet the monster, you run. Try to find this magic book while I keep the thing in check. Kay?"

Klunk, pleased that he was being given such an important task, nodded. "Kay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Mike nodded and smiled at him, and then began following Reepicheep up the stairs.

The ticking of the clock faded behind them as they walked up the first flight of stairs. When they reached the landing and turned to go up the second and final flight, all noise had vanished, and the world was all silence. Maybe, Klunk thought, maybe there was some kind of magic spell that stopped noise from going between the floors? He decided not to say anything in case he was wrong, and instead concentrate on what was ahead of him.

They found themselves at the end of another long, wide corridor - and in the distance, at the far end, daylight streamed in through a large window. Just like on the bottom floor, the corridor ran through the length of the entire house, with doors to either side - but on this floor all the doors were all half-open and painted with strange symbols, and weird-looking masks hung in a row on the wall, gazing out at the corridor with empty eye-sockets. There was an eerie feeling to the place, and Klunk peered around to see if the monster happened to be there... but he saw nothing.

Reepicheep was standing in front of them, holding his rapier high.

"Monster!" he called out, and his voice seemed unnaturally sharp and loud as it pierced through the deafening silence. "I know you are there! You can't hide from one who has seen Aslan's land! Come forth, and we'll -!"

He never got any further, because at that very moment the carpet he was standing on shook and almost caused him to lose his balance. He managed to stay on his feet, but the carpet seemed to be coming alive around him, it waved and twisted about and raised itself almost like a giant, angry snake.

Things happened so quickly that Klunk barely had time to see what was going on. With a flash light, the Mouse slashed his rapier down through the carpet, cutting a hole in it big enough for him to fall through and land on the floor as the carpet raised itself, lashing about and trying to land on him.

"Klunk!" Mike yelled. "Fastball special!"

"What?" was all Klunk had time to say before Mike grabbed him - and all of a sudden the cat was flying, finding himself hurled in a long arc above Reepicheep and the carpet. He barely had time to register anything more before he landed on his feet on the other side of the weird battle, skidding across the now carpet-less floor.

He spun around in order to see Reepicheep slash the carpet in two with his rapier, and the two pieces of carpet twitching and lashing about, trying to squash the Mouse. As if this wasn't enough, all the masks on the wall all of a sudden began changing their expressions, going from their blank, eerie staring to twisted anger and hatred. As one, they hurled themselves off the wall and launched themselves at Mike, just as he ran up to help Reepicheep.

"The book!" Mike yelled to Klunk as he twirled his nunchucks around and with powerful blows beginning to smash the attacking masks to pieces. "Find the book! We'll deal with the burglar alarm here!" His arms went like lightning, striking out and pulverizing one mask after the other, though the rest of them kept coming, even as the carpet pieces raised themselves and joined in on the attack.

"What? Oh right!" Klunk wasn't keen on leaving Mike and Reepicheep to fight alone, but he had promised - maybe the book had a spell that could help them! The sounds of the battle ringing in his ears, he took off and ran down the corridor, peering through the half-open doors into every room he passed.

There were rooms with strange maps, one room filled with crystal balls, one filled with magical-looking golden trinkets. Normally he would have loved to explore each and every one of them, but the battle was going on behind him, and each room he looked into contained no books at all.

He was just about to give up, thinking that the monster must have hidden all the Magician's books, when he came to the last room - and found that it was full of books. A large room with three windows, and the walls were lined with bookshelves, each one filled with rows and rows of books, all bound in leather and all smelling of dust - and of so much raw, unbridled magic that it made his fur stand on end.

But the one book that drew his attention, the biggest one of all the books in there, was lying open on what looked like a reading-desk, and that one felt more powerful and more magical than any of the others.

That _had_ to be it.

Klunk turned to look back, and there in the far end of the corridor he could see Mike and Reepicheep still fighting against the masks and the carpet, and now paintings and furniture had joined the fight as well, throwing themselves at them. Mike dodged and jumped and kicked, sending more than one mask and painting flying, and Reepicheep was a glowing blur, cutting the carpet up into smaller and smaller pieces. Neither of them seemed hurt or tired just yet - but Klunk knew all too well from his life with the Ninja Turtles (even if he'd been a normal, dumb cat for most of said life) that no warrior could fight non-stop without rest, and if the attacks continued, they would sooner or later be overpowered.

"Please, please, please, Aslan, let there be a spell that can help us out!" he prayed under his breath as he darted into the room and up to the reading-desk. If he could just find a spell, any spell...!

It was only when he'd jumped up onto the desk and placed his paws on the open book that he saw the major flaw in his plan.

_"Cats can't read!"_ he yowled in frustration, staring at the pages and hoping against hope that the incomprehensible squiggles and lines written there would suddenly start making sense.

And then he realized something else: Mike knew perfectly well that Klunk wouldn't be able to read any spells. He hadn't _really_ sent him off in order to get help or find the book, he'd just made up an excuse for Klunk to run away from the fight so he wouldn't be in danger.

It was almost touching to realize how much Mike wanted to keep him safe, but that didn't help the cat's frustration, nor would it help Mike or Reepicheep.

"Come on, book!" Klunk shouted at the pages. "Abraca-help-bra! Um, _accio help!_ Work, stupid magic!"

Nothing happened. He batted at the pages with his paws, turning them at a furious speed, tearing one or two of them with his claws. As the pages turned, more symbols and incomprehensible signs turned up and faded out again, glowing win strange soft colors as he touched them, but nothing more happened. The magic was _there_, he just couldn't reach it.

_"_We need help! Here! Now!" he hissed, trying out all the magic words he could think of. "Shazam! Klaatu Barada Nikto! Abraca-pocus! A-la Peanut Butter Sandwiches! _Please and thank you!" _

With those last words, the book gave an unexpected jump, sending Klunk flying for the second time that day, and loud booming noises like thunder filled the room lights beginning to flash like lightning. Magic crackled in the air, and a huge beam of green light suddenly shot out of the book and out the closest window, Klunk's voice echoing: _"We need help! Here! Now!" _a couple of times before fading away.

"_Please and thank you?_" Klunk murmured in disbelief from his sudden place on the floor, shaking himself and trying to get the echoes out of his ears. _"That_ got results? I was just kid- eee_eeow!"_

His remark turned into a startled yowl when, all of a sudden, someone grabbed him from behind and hauled him up off the floor.

* * *

Susan blinked to clear her eyes. The light had almost blinded her, and she could only see the contours of something moving in front of her; something slowly raising itself and getting taller. Then, the shadows of the cave diminished and her vision grew clearer - and she found herself looking directly at the old man, no longer asleep, but standing tall and erect.

_It worked, _she thought with a small thrill. The fairy-tales had been right; the kiss of a Queen had broken the spell - and the fact that the Queen was old and gray didn't matter in the least when she had a life-giving fireberry inside her. Through her joy, though, she half-wondered why the Dufflepuds were being so uncharacteristically silent - shouldn't they have been cheering loudly and falling over themselves to agree how good it was to have their Magician back?

The old man smiled warmly at her, his eyes filled with gratitude... and then, he made a motion with his head for her to turn around and look behind her.

Puzzled, she did so - and saw why the Dufflepuds had fallen silent.

There, in the cave opening, even bigger and brighter and more beautiful than she remembered, stood a Lion. His mane flowed around his neck, shining like the sun and the moon and the stars all at once, and his paws, soft as velvet, tread lightly on the stone floor. But it was his eyes that drew Susan's attention; in those eyes she saw entire worlds, the birth and death of thousands, of millions of people, and they were looking directly at her... looking _right through her._

"A-Aslan," she gasped, involuntarily taking a step back and bumping into the old man behind her. It was the name she had told herself she'd forgotten and rejected, but - just like the part of her that was Queen Susan - she had missed without knowing it ever since she was young. This was the meeting she deep in her heart of hearts had longed for and dreaded for more than fifty years, and now she felt beside herself with fear.

The Lion nodded his head slowly and sat down on his haunches, lifting his eyes again. "My daughter," he said, and his voice was strong as a hurricane, mild as the summer rain, golden and sweet like honey.

And Susan was struck by a memory of a time, long ago and far away, when she had stood before him, ashamed and scared because she hadn't let herself believe. After a long and awful moment when she'd almost panicked because she'd thought he would reject her, he had breathed on her, letting her know that all was forgiven and told her not to listen to fear. The surprising power of the memory, so much stronger and clearer than any of the memories she had regained in the last day, nearly overwhelmed her, and she sank to the floor, struggling with her tears.

"I - I've been such a fool, Aslan," she managed to say, and was surprised at how small and rusty her voice sounded compared to his. "I've done everything you told me not to do..."

"Not everything," said Aslan mildly, and she was surprised to see that there were tears in his eyes as well. "When you were called, you returned. When my friends came to you for help, you gave it. When my last lesson was needed, you remembered it." He placed a soft, heavy paw on her shoulder, letting it rest there. "Once a king or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen. Will you return to me, my daughter?"

She sobbed then, in pure relief. Aslan wasn't angry at her. Aslan wanted her back. It was more than she had dared hope for.

And even though she was too choked up to speak, Aslan understood her. Without removing his paw from her shoulder, he gently touched her forehead with his tongue before lifting his enormous head.

"Coriakin," he said, greeting the old Magician.

"Always your servant, Sir," Coriakin answered, bowing low, if somewhat unsteadily. "But I'm afraid I'm still a little disoriented after the long enchantment. That intruder took me quite by surprise, I'm sorry to say." There was concern in his voice as he continued: "How long has it been?"

"Worry not for your subjects, Coriakin," said Aslan. "Their time of enslavement was harsh, but brief. Even as we speak, it is nearing an end."

"What about my friends?" said Susan, lifting her head. "Mike, and Klunk and - Reepicheep? Are they all right?"

"Aid is coming to them," said Aslan. "Though not in the form they might have thought. You will see them again shortly. But for now -" He removed his paw from her shoulder and raised himself. "Twice you have ridden on my back, dear one. Let today mark the third time."

Susan raised herself as well, taking an uncertain step towards him. Even though the concern for her friends was still nagging at her, the thought of being allowed to ride on Aslan one more time made her stomach twitch with excitement. "Please, Aslan," she said. "Where are we going?"

"I have something to show you," he answered, "and something to tell you. Fear not, my daughter - you are with me once again." As Susan climbed onto his back, he once again turned to the Magician. "Rest here, Coriakin. We shall return to you before long."

"E-excuse us, Mister Sir?" came a small voice from one side. The four Dufflepuds, who had just been standing still and gaping at Aslan the entire time, and only now seemed to find their voices.

Aslan turned to them and looked them over. "Speak, small ones," he said.

"Well," said Clanker. "Don't take this the wrong way -" ("Oh, no, please don't do that!" the other three chorused.) "-but, well, who are you? We have never seen you before." ("Never, never, never!") "And when I say we've never seen you before, I mean that this is the first time we see you!"

Aslan smiled. "But I have seen you," he said. "I know you well, Clanker. And because you and your friends have taken such good care of Coriakin, we shall see each other again, and know one another better still!"

With that, he turned away from them, and leapt out of the cave - and Susan felt the almost forgotten sensation of wind in her face and the soft roughness of golden fur underneath her.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

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**Author's notes:** Aslan's back! His meeting with Susan is one of the things I've been wanting to write ever since I started this story, and I'm glad I finally got to do it. The two have a _lot_ to talk about, though, so keep your eyes peeled for more!

This was one off those chapters that started out slow in writing, but once I managed to get over the one problem I had with it (the scene where Mike, Klunk and Reepicheep are outside the house), proved surprisingly fun to write. A little _too_ fun, in fact - I had to tone down both Klunk, Reepicheep and the Dufflepuds here to prevent the entire chapter from becoming too silly. (While I follow the canon for the Narnia books and not the movies for this story, I think my Reepicheep has been influenced a little by his movie portrayal; at least he's got the sarcastic edge here.)

Otherwise, the chapter takes up a couple of things I've been wanting to explore a little for a while now, most notably with Susan. It's canon for both the Narnian books and movies that Lucy was always a little envious of Susan, who was so much more beautiful and "grown up," so I thought it would be interesting to show that perhaps Susan was just as envious of Lucy, but for other reasons.

And, just for fun - can you recognize all the "magic" words Klunk used with Coriakin's book? Apart from _"abraca-help-bra,"_ which was my invention, all the words and phrases he uses are borrowed from elsewhere - can you identify them all?


End file.
